


Property of the Crimson Dawn

by Delgardo



Category: Solo: A Star Wars Story (2018)
Genre: Crimson Dawn (Star Wars), F/M, Master/Slave
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:08:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 14
Words: 30,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25945588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delgardo/pseuds/Delgardo
Summary: SPOILERS for SOLO - A Star Wars story. In "Solo" you meet Qi'ra, but then she gets left behind. When she comes back, she's very different. So I wondered, what happened to her. So I wrote this;
Relationships: Qi'ra/Dryden Vos
Kudos: 17





	1. Part 1

Property of the Crimson Dawn

=======================================  
Breaking Qi’ra

In the shipyards of Correllia  
The cell she was in was originally an inspection hatch for one of the lower sumps of the labour hive, a lightless metal pit too small to lie down in, too low to stand in. A mass of pipes emptied a constant flow of stinking water, sewage and industrial waste into the sump that sluggishly flowed away through a grating in one wall. So she sat hunched over in a few inches of foul water and just waited in total darkness. 

She’s lost track of how long she’s been in here.   
After Molech caught her in Coronet spaceport she’d been dragged before Lady Proxima and the assembled White Worms gang. Proxima was furious with her for stealing from her and betraying the gang, but the Grindalid was cruel as well. Whipping the scrumrats into a frenzy of hate she had the whole gang pelt her with rocks and scrap metal until one well aimed cog hit her in the head and she passed out.   
She remembers waking in a store room, her body a mass of bruises, one eye swollen shut. Her wrists and ankles were bound tightly with wire. Molech and two of the guards were standing over her, armed with shock goads.  
Moloch had bend down and retracted his mask, revealing his palid skin and huge black eyes, and whispered to her "You'll never know how much it pains me to destroy something as beautiful as you." When he touched her face she’d tried to bite him, screaming at him. As his guards watched he’d methodically kicked and shocked her again and again, making her writhe in pain then pausing, throwing a bucket of ice cold water over her and then starting again. 

That night, Proxima came to her again “oh Qi’ra, I had such hopes for you. You were quick on your feet, could think fast, you could plan and scheme better than any scrumrat in this place. But you betrayed me. we gave you everything, and this is how you repay me?”   
“I owe you nothing! You made us work for you, steal for you. You gave us no choice!”  
“Well, you have a choice now. Give up Han, tell me everything and beg forgiveness and I may consider letting you work again. Or you can stay here and suffer”  
“I’d rather die!”  
“You will, eventually. But til then you’ll suffer. Moloch, carry on”  
When they were tied of beating her They’d hooked the wire binding her wrists behind her to a cable hanging from the ceiling, pulling her arms up and back and left her hanging just off the floor so her own weight twisted her arms back until her shoulders ached. 

Proxima asked again, several times, after days of beatings and sleepless nights, offering forgiveness until finally in disgust she shrugged her worm like body and said “I was going to blind you, scar you, put you to work with the cripples and beggers at the port to beg for scraps.” She clicked a pair of jagged forceps together thoughtfully. “I should tear your tongue out for what you’ve done, but he wants your tongue intact”   
Half conscious, Qi’ra realises there are new people in the dark of the room. Through swollen lips she asks “He?”  
“yes, he, Qi’ra my dear. I have sold you to a slave dealer. You did not fetch a good price; disobedience is considered a very bad quality for a slave. But your other attributes were enough to interest him. I have full confidence that he will scour the fight right out of you." 

Moloch tore her ragged shirt at the neck and jabbed a slavers wand onto her shoulder – she gasped in pain as with a hiss the device implanted a tracking chip into her flesh then flash branded a registry number onto her skin. 

Lady Proxima turned to a figure in the background, a robed humanoid in a breathing mask.   
“Labrun, she is all yours.”  
The figure stepped forward, it’s two left arms holding its staff as one of its right arms pointed a tracking wand at Qi’ra. The device scanned the code and beeped acknowledgement.  
“purchase registered”   
Moloch cut her bindings with a pair of clawed shears and pulled Qi’ra to her feet. “You are now the property of Sarkin Enneb and I fear he won’t be as kind to you as we were. Good luck charming Labrun, he’s Morseerian and you Humans all look the same to him.” 

Qi’ra tried to stand but her legs gave out under her. When Moloch let go she collapsed to the floor, willing it to just open up and swallow her.   
Labrun gestured to one of his guards, a muscular and armoured besalisk who picked her up as if she weighed nothing.   
“what are you…” she managed to mumble before Labrun pulled a slave hood over her head and switched it on. The thick membrane shrank and clung to her head. She blacked out. 

Sarkin Enneb was not kind. 

The clunk of bolts releasing in the ceiling hatch jerked her back to the present . The light that flooded in was blinding to her dark adapted eyes but she could just make out three Ugnaughts. One held the light, another a pole with a loop on the end that he deftly slipped over her head and pulled tight before she registered what he was doing. She grabbed the pole as she was pulled up and out of the sump, choking as the cord bit into her neck. The Ugnaught pushed her down to the floor plating, holding her there while the third Ugnaught turned a hose on her. The high pressure water was meant to clear the sump pipes but it scoured the filth from her body, tearing at the rags that were all that was left of her clothes. Squealing in laughter the Ugnaughts hosed her down thoroughly, half drowning her by blasting her face when she struggled. When they were satisfied she was passably clean they turned off the hose and turned on the blower, sweeping the filthy water into the sump hatch then drying her off, leaving her damp and shivering on the metal floor.   
Tugging on the pole leash they forced her to her feet and lead her from the room. She stumbled, limping as she’d lost two toes to the fleek eels that occasionally got into the pipes and the wound was angry and red with infection. One Ugnaught lead the way, the two others followed her, goading her on with short straps that made a painful slap on her legs.   
Up they went in a cargo lift, closer to the surface than she’d been in a long while, down a corridor that was clean and brightly lit then through a door into a well-appointed office.   
While she blinked in the light the Ugnaught locked the pole into the floor, with the noose end upmost, forcing her to stand on tiptoe or choke. Chuckling to itself it left to re-join the other two and head back to the under-levels.   
Qi’ra clung to the pole, fighting to breathe and keep upright while the burning pain of her wounded foot made her nauseous.   
She forced herself to look round the room, try to understand what was happening.   
There were four people. Labrun, sat at his desk. His besalisk bodyguard behind him. A skinny rhodian data slicer at a console to the side. All were facing the fourth person, sitting at ease in the guest chair opposite Labrun.   
“Well, here she is. Not broken her enough for the pleasure pits…”  
“I’d rather fuck an Ugor!” she snaps, clinging to the pole to stand  
Labrun sighs. “She’s still stubborn and wilful with a smart mouth. So the options were forced labour or just sell her by weight as feed for the carnivores”   
That makes an icy chill in the pit of her stomach   
“Then Sarkin Enneb received your list of very specific requirements and thought of her”   
“Very good. “  
The stranger gestures to Labruns bodyguard. “Let her down”. The Besalisk pulls a trowel like knife as it lumbers over and cuts the noose. Qi’ra still clings to the pole, willing herself not to fall.   
The stranger gestures to an empty chair “Sit”.   
She part walks, part staggers to the chair and sits, exhausted. Gathering her wits she focuses on the stranger. He’s a human, or one of the near human species, tall and handsome with an air of easy charm over a cold edge of ruthlessness and power. Broad shoulders, well dressed in a way she’d only seen pictures of, a pure white shirt open at the neck, black jacket with matching short cape over his left shoulder, matching slacks and shoes with a polished shine. Belt pouches, a wrist console and an ornate gold handled dagger of a design she’d never seen. Nothing he wore was worn, nothing was dirty, everything was obviously carefully chosen with taste. Sitting back with one leg up across the other, he meets her curious stare with an amused half smile.   
There’s a cold calculating cruelty in his gaze that makes her look away.   
“Interesting…”   
He lets the word hang a moment and she realises that everyone else has gone quiet and still.   
“my name is Dryden Vos and I’ve been looking for someone with certain unusual qualities. My old friend   
Sarkin Enneb thinks you may well be what I’m looking for” 

His voice is warm, calm and clear. The words wash over her and she feels a shiver down her spine   
“I need someone able to do extraordinary things for me, terrible things, without hesitation” He looks her over with a practised eye, a skinny slip of a Correllian girl on the verge of womanhood, half-starved and dressed in damp rags, hair matted and face a mass of aging bruises that tell a story of disobedience. But there’s a poise to her, an awareness and driving will. He’s impressed she’s lasted this long.  
“There is steel to you, girl. I like that.”   
Labrun interrupts “Sir, we have much better than this wretch, whatever your tastes”  
Dryden Vos silences him with a gesture.   
“Sarkin was sold you as a skilled thief with great promise, just led astray by still clinging to your hopes and dreams. Wishing will never get you out of here on its own. You need to put them aside and show me you have the will to do what is needed. I hear you’ve still a lot of fight in you, the trainers despair of teaching you even the basics of obedience, let alone how to serve and pleasure your owners. They kept you as a punching bag for the guards to use as they will, until you got your hand free and managed to kill a guard with the spike of his own belt buckle” He’s leaning forward, intent on her. Red stripes flare on his face, too symmetrical for scars. A natural feature of his species? “that got my interest”   
She tried to lift her head proudly, she was glad the brute had died  
He sits back. “So, Impress me. Read the room. Most valuable item in here?  
She laughs, humourlessly. “You. Your shoes are probably worth more than this building and everything in it. But I’d say you were too risky to steal from. You’re protected, plus i think you’re the sort who’d bear a grudge and hunt down a thief or pick pocket and punish them. So I’d go with something small and portable from someone else, probably a trinket off Labrun’s desk.”   
“Weapons?”  
“The Bodyguard has loads but never get in grapple range of a besilisk. Labrun has a staff and shock goad, plus something in that desk drawer he glances at when nervous, probably a pistol. The slicer has a boot knife and a holdout in his jacket. You have that knife on your belt.”   
He nods. “Escape routes?”  
“Best is back the way I came and up the stairs to the right. The Besalisk has an old wound on his left side, between the arms. He favours his right. So round him to the left. Labrun is Moreseerian, breathes methane. Oxygen is corrosive to him. A small heavy object would shatter his goggles and he’d be out of the fight. The rhodian is a spice head, he’s got the jitters so I’d say glitterstim. Fast but no skill, danger to everyone so give him a wide birth. You have your back to the door. Labrun does that to put people ill at ease. You’re not. You have guards outside?”   
He nods “A pair of my Hylobon Enforcers armed with JND-41 percussive cannons.”  
She flinches “With a needle beam function I hope? You don’t bring artillery like that into a built up area unless you intend serious property damage.”   
“Of course. I just make sure my guards can deal with anything an enemy would dare to throw at me.”  
“like Devlin death squads and Grav tanks?”   
His smile is cold. “Anything”

She slumps back into the chair, exhausted by the effort of just sitting upright.  
“so what happens now?”  
“Well, now you have a choice. I will make you an offer. You could choose to say no and go back to your suffering in the slave pits, to see if your body, mind or spirit breaks first. Or You could tell me you have lost the will to live, want to stop having to fight for every moment of survival. I’ll pay your price in full and give you this knife and you can kill yourself here and now. You will be free at last.”  
She chokes a sob.   
“Or you can choose to submit to me, to give yourself to me, body and soul, to do with as I wish. Put aside all ideas of Freedom and stop fighting. Accept you cannot win and that you no longer need to fight. I will buy you from Sarkin Enneb and pay to have all your records erased, wiping the slate clean. From the very bottom the only way you can go is up, and I will build you up to do amazing things. You have great potential and I promise it will be used to its fullest. But understand, I will own you, body and soul. You can never leave“.  
“and how is that better than death?”   
“You’ll have to trust me. I will make it so”   
“you can do all that, can’t you? I mean, you stole Labruns bodyguard with a look.”  
Labrun makes a startled choking noise and looks at her with smoked goggles   
Qi’ra looks back at him. “He followed his orders without checking with you. This guy seriously outranks you”  
Labrun turns and hisses angrily at his guard, but the Besalisk shrugs all his shoulders “Of course ah did, he’s Crimson Vos!” he addresses Dryden directly “The old guys of this outfit, we still remember you helped the boss set up all this. The Crimson Dawn has a serious rep that all debts are repaid and loyalty is rewarded”   
Dryden Vos nods, taking it as a compliment.  
Qi’ra feels sick at the idea, but forces it down and asks “This is a lot of work for a scrumrat fuck toy. Surely you can have whoever you want?”   
Dryden wags a finger “Oh, do not sell yourself so short. There will be so much more than that. But what I need is loyalty, passion and ruthlessness. Can you give me that?”  
She looks away. Cursing to herself, the bodyguard has moved to totally block the door. She’s trapped in here with Vos and his terrible choice. “and if I could?”  
“You have my promise it will be exceptional”.   
“so I just sign my life away?”  
“sign? No, I need something more deeply symbolic. Strip off those rags and kneel before me. Kneel and submit yourself to me, totally. Then your new life can begin”   
Eyes wide she shakes her head.   
Labrun laughs in his helmet, making the pressure valves splutter. “She’s no use to you Sir, let me find someone better..”   
Vos raises his hand. “Stop. These are the moments I savour most. The turning points, when life hangs in the balance. This is the last truly free choice she will ever make.”   
He watches Qi’ra intently, like a beast stalking prey.   
“That’s it. Let the hope die. Give up the dreams that torment you. Live with what you now have not the dreams of what you could have.”   
“Never dream of freedom? I’d rather die!”   
“Truly?” He pulls the knife from his belt, offers it hilt first.   
She looks at him accusingly “you’re enjoying this”  
“Of course“.   
Hesitantly she takes the knife. From the corner of the room the Rhodian giggles and the bodyguard gives a heavy sad sigh.  
Labrun lowers his head “My apologies, sir. I thought she’d be stronger” but Vos’s eyes have not left Qi’ra as she lifts the knife. She holds the tip to her throat, breath coming in ragged gasps.   
“Live to the fullest. You promise?” She asks   
“I only choose the best. I think you can be one of the greatest”  
She hooks the blade into the collar of her ragged shift, pulling it down. The damp cloth parts on the energised blade with a hiss, revealing a valley of pale skin between her breasts. Not taking her eyes off Vos she slips one shoulder free, then the other, pulling the cloth back like she was shedding her skin, arms behind her as she pulled them free, her small pert breasts bare for all to see. The darker skin of her nipples is puckered from the cold. She stands, sure in her movements now and slits the waistband of her slacks and hands back the knife. Hooking both thumbs in the ruined material she slides it down, wiggling her hips free and stepping out. Vos looks her up and down, taking in her narrow waist and the curve of her hips, the story of resistance told by the bruises and burns on her skin, the pleasure slave treatment that has left her skin smooth and hairless apart from a thin strip of pubic hair between her legs, the faded laser brand of her slave number on her shoulder.   
She puts her hands by her sides and takes a deep breathe. She’s taken the first step.   
Heart hammering, she takes the next.   
She steps forward and drops to her knees as gracefully as she can manage. Knowing she needs to impress she settles back on her heels, lets her knees spread apart. Crossing her arms behind her, she draws herself up with her shoulders back, open and on display.   
Lowering her head she softly says to him “I submit”. The room is quiet and still as she asks “How should I address you, sir?”   
His smile is triumphant. “I prefer the traditional titles. You may call me Master”   
He touches his wrist console, lights flash deep in the black glass of the touchscreen. He confirms with a thumb print then gestures to the floor at the side of his chair.   
“To my feet, girl”.  
“Yes, Master” She slides closer and he rests his hand possessively on the top of her head, pressing her cheek to his leg.   
Vos nods at Labrun, who’s sitting in shock. “Payment has been sent”   
Labrun check s his desk console. “Payment received in full.” Labrun makes a ‘hurry up’ gesture to the Rhodian who slips a data-cable into a port behind his ear-stalk and begins typing.   
Labrun draws a slaver wand and points it at Qi’ra “The slave tracker implant is deactivated, I’ve sent you the activation codes”  
The Rhodian clicks and hums to himself. “OK, I’ve deleted her records from the slave registry. I’ve also wiped her birth registry, her citizenship tokens, her Imperial arrest record and her Juvenile crime records. I’ve relabelled all physical records and samples they hold about her and tagged them ‘expired/ to be destroyed’.   
Qi’ra stares at the floor in numb horror as her past evaporates. Under his hand she’s emptied out, wiped clean. She feels a hollow feeling of loss.   
She’s betrayed everything she hoped and dreamed for, given it all up to just survive. She struggles to rationalise it, that as long as she’s alive she can get free, get off Corellia, get out and.. and.. she’s never really had a firm plan for what comes after. For now, her instinct is just do anything to survive.   
Labrun stands. “She’s all yours, sir”   
Dryden Vos stands, straightening his tunic “Very good!”  
He bends down and whispers into Qi’ra’s ear. “These is a blaster in the bag. See they do not leave this room alive”. He stands and leaves the room, cape swirling.  
She’s left kneeling, naked, beside his empty chair. She shivers, feeling the most naked and helpless she’s ever been. Beside the chair is a slim leather satchel. She reaches in. Wills her hand to not shake   
The Besalisk doubles over, slapping his hands on his thighs and laughing “Wow, from sump bitch to Dryden Vos’s personal slave in a day. Looks like Fate is smiling on you today!”   
In the satchel is a short barrelled Blastek heavy blaster pistol. Her fingers explore, feeling how the barrel is fat from a galvin upgrade overcharging the filaments around the blast chamber. Short range but hellishly powerful. Her hand closes round the grip.  
She gets unsteadily to her feet, clutching the satchel to her. Labrun waves her away with a dismissive gesture “stay with your Master, girl” and rounds on his bodyguard. “Have you forgotten who you work for?!”  
The Besalisk is unapologetic “He’s Dryden vos, boss. The Dryden Vos!”   
Qi’ra interrupts them “He has a message for you” and extends her arm straight. She shoots the bodyguard square in the face, the blaster bolt a fiery orange red as it erupts from the barrel and vaporizes his head instantly.   
Labrun is frozen for a second and she takes a double handed grip, putting the next bolt into his chest, burning straight through and rupturing his breathing gas canisters in an explosion of blue flame.  
The data splicer has jumped to his feet, stimmed up reflexes sending console and cables flying as he grabs for his holdout pistol and tries to dive for cover. She exhales, following his dive as he hits the floor, fumbling the pistol from its holster and sending it spinning across the floor.   
She shoots him in the chest, not trusting herself to hit anything smaller and the bolt blows a ragged hole through him.   
She lets the gun drop to her side, hearing the blasters overheated barrel filaments pop and arc.   
She’s alone in the room with three corpses. Three people she’s killed   
She feels a rush of power and horror. The smell of burning flesh and the ozone of the blaster bolts catches in her throat and she doubles over a chair, heaving but vomiting nothing but stomach acid and watery bile as she’s not eaten in days.   
She just killed three people. She feels the panic rise. For him. She just killed three people for Him. Her Master. His slave for a few minutes and she’s killed three people. She fights down the panic. No, For her. She needed this. This was a way out. This is the price of getting out.   
She stumbles for the exit.


	2. Part 2

Dryden Vos was waiting outside the door, with two guards in shiny black armour and a servant droid. The door opens with a hiss, framing her naked body against the smoke. Pale and emaciated, but deadly and proud.   
He holds out an open bag and she hesitates for a moment, then puts the gun in it. She looks him proudly in the eye and he smiles. “Well done, My girl.”   
The droid wraps a heavy dark grey travel cloak around her shoulders, the lining made of a luxurious cream silk that slides deliciously against her skin. It pulls up the hood and clips across the privacy veil, hiding her totally from view.   
Vos holds up a grenade canister, grey plasteel with an embedded blinking green light “Corrosive gas. Destroys all the evidence” he throws it into the room then closes and locks the door.  
“The ugnaughts are loyal. They'll clean the mess up afterwards. Now, follow”.  
The guards comms crackle as they send messages, probably calling ahead then fall into step, one ahead and one behind, the ornate long cannons they carry held ready   
She tries to keep up but her injured foot is a crippling pain as she limps along.   
Dryden pauses then gestures to the droid which sweeps her up in metal arms.   
They stride to the roadway where three ground cars are waiting, one a sleek luxury model the other two armoured behemoths. The Gloss black hull opens and reveals a richly upholstered interior of red leather.   
Vos settles into the only seat and orders the vehicle to reconfigure as the droid deposits her on the floor at his feet.   
The door closes and they move off, insulated from the outside world noise and stench.  
“Take off the cloak”  
He’s opened a compartment to his side, rummaging through it as she strips off the cloak, kneeling on the floor of the compartment.   
With a cry of triumph he holds up a medical injector. “aha! just what you need.” He adjusts a few dials then presses it to her thigh. “Tissue regenerative serum and anti-infection bacta. I need to start getting you back to health.”  
The device is cold on her skin then a warmth starts to spread through her body, washing away all the pains.   
“Now, drink this slowly” He opens a flask covered in medical symbols and hands it to her.  
“It’ll rehydrate and nourish you without overloading your stomach. How long is it since you last ate?”  
She holds it with both hands and sips it, savouring its flavour and remembering  
“A week I think, Master. You lose track of time in the dark.”   
He nods then sits back, watching her drink. Self-consciously, she tries to draw her legs up to her chest and sit, but he shakes his head. She lowers her head in acknowledgement and kneels facing him, spreading her knees apart and keeping her back straight. He places one perfectly polished shoe on the floor between her thighs, not touching her but intimately close.   
She shivers then fights it down and drinks more. “Why are you doing this?”  
“I’m giving you true freedom. Freedom from choices. Freedom from responsibilities. No past. No ties. Nothing to hold you back. You are free to be whoever and whatever I want. Though You must realise I’m doing this for purely selfish reasons. Because I want to. Because I want you”   
“So what, your Pet, Bed mate and murderer?”   
“Perhaps, and more. Though you will need to earn the rest”   
“Earn it? What more do I have to do?” she asks, keeping the nervousness from her voice  
“Whatever I wish. Don’t worry; you may even come to enjoy it”   
Fear and nausea mix with a sick thrill of excitement.   
The convoy of ground cars weaves its way out of the slums, onto the highway and into the spaceport. It weaves down covered roads and into a private bay.  
The Car purrs to a stop and the door slides smoothly open.   
Vos climbs out first, telling Qi’ra “put the cloak back on. Keep a step behind me and to my left”  
“Yes Master” She gathers the cloak and wraps it about her and steps out behind him.   
Looking down she sees her bare foot on the smooth stone, it bears her weight without the jolt of pain she was expecting. Something in the shot her gave her.   
She looks up and realises they’re standing at the base of a Magnificent golden tower, it’s ornate wrought panels and beams catching the light of the setting sun.   
It takes her a moment to recognise the decorated louvers of ion engine intakes, the swooping curve of deflector dishes. The great gleaming golden tower is a ship.   
Breathlessly she asks “This is your ship? It’s beautiful”  
For a moment Vos sees her control slip, an innocent look of joy and wonder on her face. He smiles.  
“The First Light, My flagship, your new home for now. She’s a Nau’ur class space yacht, custom built for me by the Frankelloid ship wrights of Kalevala. I love their work, the vertical design is so radically different from the broad flat wedge designs the shipyards of the imperium favour for star destroyers.”  
Obviously a favourite subject, he carries on with sweeping gestures   
“Crew quarters and stores are at the bottom, then the engines and bridge in the middle and above that staff quarters, medical, guest rooms, and my private quarters at the top.”  
“Is she fast?”   
“Oh, blindingly so when needed, but I prefer a more sedate cruise, gives me time to think. The drive is a Mandalorean design, very low signature. She is almost impossible to track once we are underway.”  
“Ideal for privacy and security.”  
“Oh, indeed. But also for entertaining. When I arrive at a city I like to throw a little party, a get together for the powerful and influential to come and pay tribute” 

The double layer doors hiss open, revealing a circular room lit by vertical yellow light-strips in the walls.  
“this Main elevator serves as the airlock when we’re in atmosphere. Also, this level is armoury, weapons scan and cloakroom.” A hatch opens in the opposite wall, revealing a droid crewman in a bulbous sensor helmet. Vos hands him his travel cloak and the Hylobons hand in their cannons, keeping their sidearms.   
Vos gestures “Give him the cloak”   
Qi’ra faces Vos and unclasps the cloak, letting it fall open as she turns, slipping it off her shoulder, letting the soft lining slide across her skin. She’s feeling better than she has in days now, alert and aware and determined to play her role to the full. Her survival depends on impressing him, making him want her and keep her. She can tell Vos is eager and as tight wound as a spring, enjoying himself showing off to someone new.   
She hands the cloak over  
“you will remain naked from now on unless I give you both garment and permission.”   
Just a statement of fact, no need for a threat, just used to his commands being obeyed   
He nods to the crewman “scan her for weapons” and gestures for Qi’ra to turn on the spot. “Can’t be too careful, you could have implanted weapons or a bomb. Not that Enneb is that cunning, but it has been tried before” One of the Hylobons grumbles under his breath and Vos agrees.   
“yes, we lost two good men that day, but rest assured those responsible as still suffering”   
the Hylobons laugh.  
“similarly, you will not eat or drink anything without permission and may not touch a weapon unless I give express permission”   
She bows her head, playing the role to the hilt “Yes Master” while her mind races. It’s not just about showing how he has power over her; this is a legitimate concern for him. He’s wary of assassins with very esoteric methods, poisons, diseases, implanted bombs – but when your base of operations moves so freely, straightforward attacks are out. But he’s been in power long enough to help Enneb set up his slaving operation, so his precautions work.   
Vos waves a hand over a control and the lift goes up, doors cycling to reveal a huge open space that takes up the entire level of the ship. Panoramic windows set with huge gold circles give a breathtaking view of the city but her attention is drawn to the displays set about the room. Raised podiums are covered with displays of unusual items that her instinct tells her are insanely rare and valuable, while around them couches and low tables fill the gaps and a low stage is illuminated under the stairs at the other side of the room.   
“This is my collection, trophies and tributes from a thousand worlds. Here I entertain my guests, never more than a hundred of the most powerful or power hungry in the system. People have been known to kill for an invitation”  
The doors close behind them, the Hylobons stayed in the lift so she’s alone with Dryden now. His enthusiasm is rising and she can see the lines on his face are growing redder. It makes her feel scared and helpless and strangely excited.   
He leads her up the stairs to his study, a circular room with more displays of artefacts, seats around a table in the middle and a large desk opposite the door. He gestures for her to look around the room.   
One display seems to be of figurines, one stylised dancing humanoid in green jade, others of precious metals like a squat crudely carved female in gold.   
“The Dancing goddess of the Godoan people, said to grant great luck”   
Another is of weapons and armour, the centrepiece a suit of ancient unpowered armour with the distinctive helmet of the Mandalorean warriors, surrounded by axes and swords   
The third held many plates of engraved crystal, including a pyramid with glowing symbols on each face. “That is a Holocron, an ancient means of storing data. One day I’ll have its secrets unlocked, until then it’s enough to know that only I have them”  
“and these?” she asks, pointing to a Triptych of stone panels depicting figures with crowns of horns in stylised combat poses.   
“The three masters of Teras Kasi, the art of the Iron Hand. The Palawa, Bunduki and Zabrak. The style is harder to master than the echani fighting arts, but far stronger, able to challenge the Jedi themselves.”   
“Have you studied it?” she looks him over, appraising his physique then faking a blush and looking away.   
“Some of the art, yes. It has three pillars, the closing of the mind, the hand and the body. The first teaches you to hide your thoughts, to stop a Jedi reading your intentions. Not something I need worry about too much, such mind tricks do not work on me. The second teaches you to strike with your body or a weapon, to sense the weakest point and exploit it. The third conditions the body to a peak of fitness, strength and speed, immune to pain and fatigue.”   
“Sounds fearsome”  
“I may show you, someday”  
Past preserved creatures in glass orbs, The fourth display has a theme of death symbols, a few she recognises.   
Vos grows solemn as he explains “these are Rafa Life crystals. This is a Rakatan wraith box. This ark holds the ashes of chancellor Contispex the First, who led the great crusades against the outer rim twelve thousand years ago.”   
“I’ve never heard of him.”  
“His descendants ruled the republic for a thousand years, until overthrown by the Jedi order. But his legacy is still with us, the schism between the outer rim and core worlds is to this day due to his actions”  
She nods in understanding “and that inequality is fertile ground for you to operate”   
“All this” He gestures, encompassing the ship and its treasures “are down to this one mans hatred” 

He leads her to the desk, a great slab of polished hardwood, supported on one side by a computer core and incongruously on the other by a ragged stone, seemingly broken from a larger slab from its jagged shape and the way the engraved writing ends. On the desk rests an articulated band of metal squares perhaps an inch wide, etched with the semicircle emblem of the Crimson Dawn.   
“To your knees, My girl.” Heart racing, she hurries to obey, dropping to her knees at his feet   
“bare your neck.” She lowers her head and pulls her hair forward, exposing her neck. She can hear him pick up the metal band, knowing with a sick certainty it’s a collar, a collar for her, somehow after all the things she’s suffered the idea still terrifies her.   
He loops it around her neck as she wills herself to be still, snapping it closed and sealing it with his thumbprint.  
She feels it activate, shift and adjust to her then each segment in turns clicks and sparks as it fuses the mechanism solid. It cannot be unlocked.   
She gasps and slumps forward, as if it weighed a thousand tons.   
“I, Dryden Vos, do formally confirm my ownership of the human female Qi’ra of Corellia. 

"I am yours, master."  
She steels herself and looks up, trying to show just the right mix of fear and devotion.  
"I'm yours".  
He takes her by the collar and drags her to her feet, pulling her to him. "You are mine" he growls and stops her reply with a rough kiss. 

She remembers the training they tried to beat into her, lessons on how to please your Master. She moans as he kisses her, pressing her naked body against him, squirming as his arm went around her waist. She can feel her nipples harden as she rubs against him, her body responding to his attentions and her helplessness. She half closes her eyes and grips his shirt, feeling a hot slick eagerness between her thighs as she tries to judge his taste. Should she fight and be conquered? Be forced to love it? Surrender to him? Or would he want tears and fear?   
He keeps a firm grip on her collar as his free hand roams, cupping her full breast and tugging the nipple. The low moan that escapes her lips surprises her, as does the probing finger he slips down between her legs, parting her slick folds to find her wet and eager. "I'm yours" she moans, grinding herself on his probing finger. She fumbles at his shirt buttons, unbuckling his belt. She can feel his erection through his pants, eager to get free. She grips it, stroking it as she fumbles the buckle open.   
“Mine. Blood on your hands and smoke in your hair. You are Mine”   
Vos grips her ass in both hands and lifts her onto the edge of the desk, spreading her legs wide. She leans back, arching her back better to show off her breasts as she feels the head of his cock press against her, as he grips her hips and thrusts into her. She cries out in involuntary pleasure as the sensations rush through her, pinned down by his rapid thrusts, helpless in his grip, on his desk, his ship, wearing his collar. Helpless and owned.   
Something deep within her finally lets go and she loses herself in the moment, the fear, the pain, the pleasure, she cries out as she comes, arms flailing, trying to dig her heels in to push back in time with his thrusting cock as she grips him . He doesn’t stop, just carries on, thrusting faster now, each thrust pushing her back into the mindless pleasure as she grips the desk, moaning "I'm yours" and despairing at knowing how true it was.   
She feels him shudder, fingers gripping her hips as his thrusts become frantic stabs then he grunts, his whole body tenses, she can feel his cock throb and pulse inside her as he comes, spurting as his hips spasm.   
She looks up at him with what she hopes is honest astonishment and adoration, only half faked as she has never come like that before.   
"I'm yours Master.”  
Vos seems triumphant, then looks to one side of the desk and his expression changes to astonishment. Her hand is resting on the stone fragment in the desk and within the black granite red symbols can be seen. Floating and flickering. It’s like no language she’s ever seen, and when she tries to look closer the symbols seem to slide from her view. She takes her hand off it snd One by one they wink from veiw.   
She looks at Vos, trying to puzzle out what it means. He is grinning ear to ear.   
He slips his still half erect cock from her and unceremoniously dumps her back on her knees.   
Picking up a communicator he gestures to his fading erection. "Suck me clean, girl"  
The tone of his voice sends a quiver down her spine and she hurriedly sets to work licking and kissing his cock, cupping his balls as she works up to taking him into her mouth. She notices he has the same red ridges down his cock as he does his face. Kissing the tip she opens her mouth wide and slowly slides down onto him, sure to use plenty of lips and tongue. She can taste the thick saltiness of his come and the flavour of her own juices  
She’s surprised to feel the heat build in her again, a throbbing urgency between her legs. She desperately wants to touch herself, to stroke her aching clit, to make herself come with his cock in her mouth.   
She looks up, pleading with her eyes but Vos is busy on the communicator. She can just catch half the conversation.  
"Yes, the fragment lit up. Red letters. Faded now. That’s what i thought. Yes, i definitely will once this is over. Of course"   
Somehow his indifference makes her ache for him all the more.   
He shuts off the comm and looks down at her. "Seems you could be worth even more than i thought"   
It’s hard to ask questions and suck cock so she slides back, wiggling her tongue as she does then looks up, feeling strangely proud.  
"How so, master?"   
"Seems you have the potential to be quite a useful asset. This stone is an ancient device to measure your... “he pauses, deliberating “..willpower. I'll try a few tests on the trip"   
She carefully tucks him back into his pants and buttons them up "Where are we going?"   
“Na Hutta, the smugglers moon”   
“I’ve never been off Corellia before”  
“You are now. We're already underway”   
She forgets herself and runs to the window.  
The sunset light now shows the curve of the planet far below them. The vast sprawl of the cities that have held her captive her whole life are just a thousand points of light scattered across the surface, the dark grey of industrial plants being swallowed by the terminator of night as it sweeps across the planet. Behind it the world is in darkness, revealing the lights in thick clusters in the city centres, outlining the great open plains of the shipyards, sparkling ribbons along the highways, the inky blackness of the sea.   
She grips the railing , choking on emotion. She can’t breathe. She’s out. Free of the slums. Trading a gravity well for a collar. She hopes it’s not a mistake.  
She realises Vos is standing behind her, he's light on his feet for such a big man, or she's too distracted. She leans back into him, savouring the feeling of firm muscle and fine cloth on her skin. She can survive this. Just keep him happy for now, wait for him to find a new toy to distract himself with, fade into the background, just be one of the crew , look into buying her freedom or skim a few credits and jump ship, maybe fake an accident so he doesn’t come after her.  
The smile on her face is honest as she whispers a heartfelt "thank you".  
He wraps his arms around her waist, his touch sending shivers through her. They stand in silence for a shared moment, as the planet falls away beneath them. Then the shutters lower and the intercom pulses a low warning tone that they’re ready for the jump to lightspeed. She turns in his embrace, sure to slowly draw her hard nipples across his bare chest, feeling the ridges in his skin. She looks up into his eyes and softly says "thank you Master" then lowers her gaze, biting her lip, playing the thankful slave girl to the hilt..   
She can feel his cock is hard again, making her worry what his species refractory time is like, or that martial art stamina training.   
That’s a sobering thought for her, Keep him happy or you’re dead .  
But Dryden just smiles and leads her into an adjacent room, his quarters. His bed is a great slab of night black foam with deep burgundy sheets on a golden base easily big enough for three. He points to another door "go clean up then we will eat"   
Feeling his cum still sticky on her thighs she nods "yes Master" and hurries to clean up.   
Once that is taken care of she explores the shower, a cubicle big enough for several people at once, walled with opalescent shells and set with a multitude of hand holds and nozzles. In the slums running clean hot water was a real luxury, she remembers a time she and Han had splashed out twelve credits for a night in a proper hotel to celebrate a big score, the room with threadbare carpet but clean sheets and a working shower.   
She looks round. No obvious controls, so she tries voice commands "full clean".  
The door slides silently closed and the low hum of a sonic spray starts, enveloping her in a warm soft mist that’s joined by jets of water.  
Every bruise, graze and scrape comes alive and painfully reminds her of its existence. Her swollen foot starts to burn. The shower obviously recognises she needs medical aid as the mist takes a clinical smell and a robotic arm offers her a scrub pad. She starts to scrub in earnest, cleaning out the shallow wounds, the pad foaming with a lather than stings then numbs but she keeps on, wanting to take off the top layer of her skin, all the traces of where people have touched her, all the filth she has endured. The shower shifts spray, harder and hotter, til her skin is scoured bright pink but she still doesn’t feel properly clean.   
The shower shifts to dry mode, quickly leaving her clean and fresh.  
She looks round the bathroom again. Still no clothes, no jewellery, maybe she can find some sort of make up or perfume. Got to look her best. She finds a hairbrush and wrestles it through her matted and abused hair. Something in the brush or the shower had restored a lot of its condition, as she brushes it grows in body and shine, knots untangling or falling free in brittle clumps.   
She looks in the full length mirror, shaking her hair out then looks herself over critically. Scrum rat thin and wiry over fuller bones, a legacy of lean days with no food, but success in the gang the last few years and growing up has let her fill out some, giving her fuller breasts and hips on the narrow waist. She lifts her arms over her head, stretches out and Shifts her weight to one foot, trying to remember the lessons Enneds trainers tried to beat into her.   
She licks her lips and tweaks her nipples to make them hard. A female looking aroused is a turn on for many males. She trails her finger tips over her stomach, feeling a nervous flutter and realising she really is aroused, sliding her fingers between her lips, finding shes already wet. Circling her fingers round her clit she moans breathlessly, watching her face flush, a blush spread over her chest.   
Remembering the cursed trainer lashing her inner thigh. Shouting "it doesn't matter if you want to be fucked or not you gutter rat, if you know you’re going to be fucked your body will get ready for it. Be thankful for it, it’s all you’re good for!"   
She fights to put the bad memory aside, how they hung her upside down, spread by her ankles, and worked that lash over her thighs and cunt until she'd screamed herself hoarse. But the heat she felt is gone.   
Focus on the moment. Forget the past. Its already happened. Dont worry about the future, it'll happen regardless. Focus on the now. She bounces on the balls of her feet, watching her hair and body move, then hurries back to the bedroom.   
Dryden Vos has changed to a plain white shirt with an open front and baggy black pants. He opens a wide drawer set seamlessly into the wall and takes out a great roll of beast furs.   
She ponders kneeling then settles on standing ready, arms behind her back, head down.  
He throws the furs down on the floor beside the bed. "You will sleep here"   
She looks at the bed, larger than some slum homes but nods "yes master"   
"But now, we eat and talk"   
He strolls back into the study, sprawling on a couch. She follows him, spotting there is now a small round cushion on the floor beside his seat. She kneels there and waits, back straight, shoulders back so her breasts are thrust proudly forward.   
Vos leans back, pleasantly surprised how well she has cleaned up and settled in. Of course he can see much was an act, base survival instinct to bare your throat to a stronger force, but there was a hint of a genuine submission that excited him more than he'd care to admit.  
The door opened and a low cylindrical serving droid rolled in, its flat top a table set with covered dishes.   
Stencilled on its side was the designation PA-LT4   
“LT here is my personal server and recipe droid. He keeps track of things I like and dislike and how that changes over time, My biochemistry is rather volatile and changeable so my tastes shift a lot”  
He lifts the domed silver cover and cloud of fragrant steam escapes, sweet and spicy. The platter is set with curled battered shapes on skewers, surrounded by artfully carved and arranged greenery and all drizzled with a sticky sauce heavy with red flakes.   
“Battered Colo Claw fish, a current favourite of mine”   
Her stomach growls loud enough for him to hear and she’s salivating but doesn’t trust him, is he trying to get her to do something without permission, looking for an excuse to punish her? She swallows and waits.  
Noting her willpower he points the decorations on the dishes, jewelled handles and decorative curls.  
“When you eat, look at the decorations – these glowing green stones are an active poison sensor; if they go red it’s detected something harmful” he takes a skewer and hands it to her “Eat”  
She hesitantly takes it and nibbles at it, the crisp batter crunching as she bites down, into the sweet white flesh of the fish. She chews, feeling the flesh melt on her tongue and the spicy sourness of the sauce balance its richness.   
Then she abandons all reserve and devours it, cramming the whole thing into her mouth and crunching on it, chewing as she eagerly takes the second skewer he offers, amused.   
She’s halfway through it when she wills herself to slow, taking her time   
“Sorry, Master. Food whenever you want it is a luxury for me.” She nibbles at a battered claw “so, green glowing gem is safe. What happens if you try and alter them?”  
“They go black and burn out if you try and tamper with them”  
She points at the ring on his right hand with the large green stone “is that one of them as well?”   
“Observant. Yes, it is. Always pays to keep a poison sensor on you, just in case”   
“So I don’t need to sample all of your food first?” She says, offering him a claw   
“Poison tasters are out of fashion at the moment, they just make assassins use more cunning poisons, one that take longer or only target particular beings” He shrugs. “So you always have to be careful”   
She eats and listens as he tells her of famous schemes and betrayals, but the warmth and the food and the fatigue catch up with her and without realising it she slumps against the seat, then slides down to the floor, fast asleep.


	3. Part 3

She wakes with a start from a deep dreamless sleep, the first she’s had in years. She’s stretched out naked somewhere, wrapped in luxurious soft warmth, dry and not wracked by the pangs of hunger that have been constant companions for too long. She feels an unfamiliar weight around her neck, half-awake her fingers feel the metal of a rigid band. Realisation brings memory crashing back, she gasps, clutching the furs to her face.   
She fell asleep at his feet! Looking round she realises she’s on the floor of his bed chamber, in the pile of furs he laid out beside his bed. She can hear him breathing.  
She lies back in the tangle of furs, feeling them soft against her skin as she stretches out.  
Well, he didn’t kick her awake and punish her, that’s a good start.  
She stares at the ceiling, Planning; next step would be to test the boundaries of what she can do, learn what Vos expects of her, what he wants, how he wants her to be. Some men like to take by force but acting the weeping and sullen slave will probably get her thrown out of an airlock in a fit of rage, whereas grateful and eager may be a little too forward but seems fitting, to repay his apparent kindness.   
She slips from the furs and slowly crawls up into his bed.   
He’s lying naked on the bedfoam pad, tangled in sheets that are luxuriously soft to the touch. Keeping on all fours she watches him, over six feet tall, long limbed and muscular, well-proportioned for a human but still slightly wrong – his elbows and knees seem longer, a double joint. His side and back are a maze of scar tissue, both jagged wounds and precise surgical incisions. And all over his skin are the ridges, the lines, Smooth and raised like scars, but regular, like stripes on eel hide. They seem to swell when they get redder, reminding her of an erection growing as the blood swells it. Erectile tissue. Blood rising to the surface. Reminds her of medical vids and talks with the older girls growing up, whispered conversations about sex and how it worked. Youthful fumblings and serious boyfriends showed it wasn’t anything like what was promised but when it was good, it was good. Now, she had to somehow seduce this powerful, murderous man, make him want to keep her alive at least long enough for her to escape. 

Desire and devotion seems to be the best angle, and he is good looking so it’s easy to fake. She leans forward and softly kisses his chest. His body tenses at her touch and his eyes snap open as he goes from sound asleep to alert and awake in a heartbeat. Her eyes go wide with astonishment as there’s no trace of the fog of sleepy confusion she has always felt. He looks at her and relaxes, giving her permission to carry on with a slight nod of his head.   
“Good morning, Master” she breathes, keeping her voice low and husky as she slides down his chest, pecking small soft kisses over his abs, tasting a faint salt of sweat, a musk of maleness, feeling the firm muscles and something more, either a peculiarity of his biology or a layer of implanted armour protecting the organs.   
Letting her hair trail over his skin she kisses her way to a far more normal feature of his biology, a rapidly rising erection striped with the same ridges as the rest of him, swelling as it grows but with none of the obvious veins she’s seen before. In the morning light she examines it, stroking it reverently, trying to get some feel for what he was feeling. She sees a droplet form on the tip and she licks it up, tasting him then sliding her lips over the head of his cock, working her head up and down as she cups his balls. He gives a sigh of pleasure and she feels relief, he’s enjoying it. She takes him as deep as she can, burying her face in the tangle of hair he has, inhaling the scent of him. She can feel his pulse making him throb on her tongue and feels an growing need, a wet heat between her legs. Sitting up she puts her hands on his chest and straddles him, pressing his erection down with her groin, slowly starting to work her hips, feeling her slick lips spread as she slid herself along his cock, teasing him and feeling herself get wetter. Finding her balance she puts her arms up, behind her head, arching her back as she works him, showing her body off as she strokes herself along him.   
He puts his hands on her thighs, sliding up to grip her hips as she rocks. She shivers, feeling his thumbnails trail on her skin like sharp claws. She feels herself melt as he grips her hips with firm hands and holds her as he enters her. She gives a low cry of pleasure, arching her back and spreading her thighs, letting her weight carry her down onto him as he trusts upward. She clenches around him, aching with pleasure and wanting more, trying to work her hips to slide on him but he holds firm, lifting her as he starts to thrust.   
She half falls forward, hands on his chest, gasping at the hard urgent pace he sets.  
Unbidden the words come to her lips “yes, Master. Please. More.”   
His lips split in a feral grin and suddenly he rolls them over, pinning her to the bed with his body, with his cock as he thrusts harder, faster. He pins her wrists over her head with one hand.   
“who’s are you?”  
“yours Master. I’m Yours” the feel of his body pressing down on her, pushing into her, the iron of his grip as she tries to move, the helplessness should be terrifying, and it is but also exhilarating. He can do whatever he wants and there was nothing she can do and she hated how right it felt.   
“I’m yours Master. Use me. Please. I’m yours” she can’t stop, she has a burning need to beg, to offer herself totally to him. He trusts deep, holding there as his muscles clench then a few spasming thrusts as he comes, spurting into her. The last thrusts push her over the edge from desperate need to a rolling wave of exhilaration, orgasmic pleasure making her thighs shake, making her clench around him as he finishes, each thrust sending waves of pleasure through her.   
He rolls off her with a satisfied sigh, stretching out on his back. She feels like she’s floating in the afterglow as she rolls onto her side, tucking herself in close to him with her head on his chest. He wraps a protective arm around her and she just basks in the strange sensations, a strange mix of used and needed, safe and helpless.   
Vos strokes her hair with a playfully bemused expression. She smiles up at him “Good morning Master”  
“it was indeed, My girl”   
He sits up, stretching. She watches the striations across his back pale and fade and smiles to help. At least she can take pride in a job well done.   
He thumbs a control on the wall console. “Have breakfast prepared” then stands and heads for the bathroom, motioning her to follow. In the shower cubicle he washes his hair while she scrubs his back with a lather rich sponge, kneeling on the hard tile as the water sprays to wash his legs and his feet. She makes sure she’s thorough, trying to keep an air of obedience and admiration as she scrubs every inch of him. His knees and elbows are definitely different and as she sponges the back of his hand she realises his thumb really is a claw, thicker than his fingers with a sharp black nail. Curious, she looks down at herself, finding no claw marks or scratches on her thighs. Vos chuckles and makes a fist, tensing his thumb until the full three inch claw was extended. “a vestige of my peoples more primeval days, most modern generations can’t even extend it but I has mine surgically restored”.   
He hands her a bottle of scented lotion. “This soothes the scars, plus will stain purple any tissue rejection”  
She massages the silky smooth liquid into his back, watching it absorb quickly.   
“How is that a problem you suffer from, Master?”  
“It’s more a precaution, in case my biochemistry shifts again”   
They dry off and he walks back into the bedroom, opening concealed panels in the polished wood walls that extended out into an extensive wardrobe. “casual dress as we’re in transit today”. He points to a few garments and she picks them out and lays them on the bed, looking them over she admires his expensive tastes.   
He opens another wall panel, revealing a veritable armoury of ornate blades, pistols and ornate devices that may be decoration but that she feels sure conceal weapons. He selects an arm console, belt with holster and a knife with a cruelly hooked tip then closes the panel.   
Looking over the clothes she picks a pair of loose cut long black pants and pairs them with a dove grey shirt accented with an asymmetrical red panel. “Perhaps these?”   
“You have a good eye, girl”   
“Thank you Master” she says as she kneels and fastens his boot. Now he’s standing and fully dressed, she’s naked and kneeling before him. She lowers her head slightly and smiles, imagining how this looks. Just how he wanted it, she hopes. His Pleasure slave, body slave and obedient servant.


	4. part 4

Dryden Vos walks through to his desk, Qi’ra following obediently behind him and to his left. Awaiting his arrival is an Ash grey reptilian woman in a sheath dress of green synth silk, holding a computer pad and the server droid, bearing breakfast.   
Vos settles into his chair, Qi’ra on the floor at his feet. The LT droid beeps in greeting and presents Vos with a plate of pastries and a cup of a dark bitter smelling recaf. Then it toots a brief query to Vos.   
“She may eat”   
The Droid rolls round to Qi’ra and produces a plate of the same pastries and a glass of cold pale blue bantha milk.   
She takes it with a thank you and glances at Vos hesitantly. He nods approval so she bites into one, layers of flakey buttery pastry with a hidden core of sweet honey and cream.   
“Vagnerian canapés for breakfast, a bad habit I picked up on Alderan” Vos sips his drink “So, Margo, what is my schedule for today?”   
“you have a meeting with the supply cartel after lunch, but this morning is medical evaluation for your latest acquisition”   
“How is the good doctor today? Stable I hope?”   
She’s dryly sarcastic as she answers “He’s not killed any of the crew recently, though he did bring medical supplies and several new restrained test subjects on board at the last stop so he’s probably been busy. Ponda says he’s in a good mood.”  
“Good, good. Tell him we’ll be down after breakfast”  
Margo nods, gives a graceful bow and leaves. The Droid stays, collecting dishes.  
Vos reclines and sips his caf. “Now, I don’t want you to be scared, girl. Doctor Evazan is a genius the like of which the galaxy sees once in a thousand years. He’s a brilliant medical doctor, pharmacist, a technological innovator and expert cyberneticist.” He brings up a picture of a bestial wreck of a man with a hideously scarred face. Qi’ra winces in horror and sympathy. “He’s also blessed with a complete lack of inhibitions, conscious and morality, things that would only slow his genius. On most worlds he’d have been imprisoned or executed by now, his scars are due to a bounty hunter who almost killed him, but luckily I found him and offered him both employment and protection.”  
He scrolls though a series of images, medical scans and designs for devices  
“I keep him on hand to help maintain my own rather protean physiology, plus he does some valuable cybernetic work on our mining labour force.”  
The images now show twisted beings with layers of added muscle, grafted on masks and goggles, reinforced limbs that end in shovels and drills.   
“Now we place anyone who’s injured in the mines into suspension and whenever I visit the doctor heals and improves what he can.”   
Trying to keep the fear from her voice, she asks “What is he going to do to me?”  
Vos stands, motioning her to follow “Don’t worry; I just want him to check you over, make sure you’re not sick and tend to your injured foot.”  
“and make sure I’ve none of those exotic poisons or diseases assassins use?”  
“Exactly.”   
The lift takes them down several floors to a suite of rooms decorated in sterile white, lit with harsh blue white lights that threw hard shadows off the piles of complex medical devices piled up against the walls, trailing cables and hoses winding round welder units and boxes of machine parts. Vos seems unfazed so Qi’ra assumed the clutter is normal, but it makes her uneasy. In her experience, doctors were either young stressed volunteers in the free clinics or organised and very expensive.   
An Aqualish in a white medical coat splattered in blood was wiping down a polished metal medical table. He looked up, grunting something aggressively and gesturing to the table.   
“Has he been making a mess again Pondo?” Vos seems amused.   
The Aqualish throws up his hands in exasperation “WaWooDo NaHuuga”   
“Very true” Vos turns to Qi’ra. “Up on the table.”   
She gingerly sits on the edge, damp cold metal against her bare skin, then swings her legs up and lies back.   
The door in the far wall opens and the ugliest man she has ever seen walks in, wiping blood from his hands.   
One side of his face was a twisted mass of scars, curling his lip and pulling the eye out of shape. It looks like he lost the eye, as the socket now holds a white bioplastic implant. His nose is huge and swollen and his teeth are crooked but his voice is surprisingly calm and cultured.   
“Ah, your new toy? I like her face. Do you want me to cut it off?”   
He drops the bloody cloth into a surgical tray held by an assistant that followed him, a human woman wearing a padded smock and some sort of visor.  
Qi’ra studies the assistant, as something seems strange about that first impression and then feels a sudden rush of horror as she realises It’s not a visor, it’s far, far worse. It is a flat boxy cybernetic implant and the entire top of the woman’s head is gone. No eyes, no ears, just the box. Like someone just started at the bridge of the nose and cut clean across. 

She scrambles backward off the table in a blind panic, terror choking her scream as she franticly looking for an exit.  
Ponda Barda gave the Aqualish equivalent of a long suffering sigh and grabbed her by the hair and arm, heaving her into the air and slamming her back down onto the table with practised ease. Holding her down he kicks a foot control and the table whirrs , extending binder cuffs.  
Doctor Evazan grabs up an injector and advances on her.  
Vos has had enough. "STOP! Enough of this."   
Everyone freezes.   
The lines on his face pulse red.   
No one dare breathe.   
"Qi'ra. You will lie still and not move until I allow it. Do you understand?"   
Fighting hysteria she holds her breath, eyes screwed closed, but nods.   
"Good girl. Ponda, you can let go of her now. DR Evazan, if you could do a full medical scan, immune booster and tend to her wounds, nothing more."   
“Of course sir.”  
Dryden walks over to the table, watching Qi’ra’s trembling form. “It’s ok, I understand Doctor Evazan’s creations can be a little unnerving at first, but you have nothing to fear. We call them the Decraniated, you simply remove the upper parts of the skull and brain and fitting a cybernetic housing for a droid brain that connects to the brain stem and keeps the body alive. The person they were is dead and gone, now they’re a simple droid with a living body. They sadly have many of the disadvantages of droids and living beings but a few unique advantages.” He grips her chin, turning her face to him. “Tell me them”   
“Master?” She flinches as Doctor Evazan touches her injured foot.   
“Tell me why I keep them. Look at me. Think. Ignore them, let the Doctor work. Focus only on me.”   
As Doctor Evazan works the medical scanner she stammers “I don’t know. They’re dead people. Dead bodies operated by machines. The person is dead, so you can’t really use it to punish someone directly. You could hurt their family? Too much work.” She looks at him with a sick understanding “They’re just a status symbol. aren’t they? A rare thing for your collection, rare and massively illegal, you keep them to scare people, to show how powerful you are”   
Vos laughs, letting go of her face and slapping the table. “Indeed I do, girl. Indeed I do”  
Dr Evazan finishes tending to her foot. “Her wound is stapled and the scans are clean, just the stunted growth and nutrient deficiencies you’d expect in a scrumrat who hardly saw the light of day. In my official capacity as a doctor I’d prescribe a healthy diet, plenty of rest and regular exercise”  
Ponda makes a low grunting comment that breaks into regular grunts and Dr Evazan laughs along   
Flat on her back on the medical table, naked under the harsh lights, Qi’ra feels her skin crawl. She vows to get off this ship of horrors.


	5. part 5

Dryden Vos offers her his hand, helping her off the medical table.   
“Now, I have another task for you” he leads her out of the medical lab and she’s glad to leave the harsh lights.  
In his study he folds several large screens from the wall, bringing up a map of the star sector, each planet lit with a cluster of data points, routes between them coloured lines tagged with ships and cargo.   
He touches a few, opening pages of cargo manifests, ship specifications, smuggling routes and travel times. Imperial bases with notes of the people who were taking bribes, areas with gangs that were allies, subordinates or rivals.   
“Now, Enneb praised your stubbornness but also your adaptability, your gift for planning and scheming. He complained he had to keep breaking you down and moving you round as you were constantly looking for some sort of angle”   
He gestures to the screens “Have a look”  
She pads over to the screens, bare feet on the polished floor and hesitantly starts to look through. Vos sits back and watches her body language change, shaken up from the medical she’s conscious of her nakedness, closed in and feeling vulnerable, arms in front of her body and head down, though she tries to put on a brave face when she thinks he’s watching. She opens one point at random, reading about the planet then following links to buyers and sellers, trades and smugglers, eyes going wide at the amount of money changing hands.   
“I want you to study this and see if you can find me something to turn a profit. Any angle, however small. I’m interested to see what you can do”   
As she opens more pages and starts following more links he watches her relax  
“What do you want to learn about first?”  
She looks at the blue glowing icon labelled HYPERFUEL and points to it, turning to him with an eager gleam in her eye. “Coaxium” 

============================== 

She sat at his feet, attentive but mind racing, as Dryden Vos greeting the Hologram of the Hutt. She’d never seen a Hutt before and the giant broad slug face floating in outline made her glad for that. Dryden didn’t seem phased by the things huge worm like tongue as it spoke. .   
“Grakkus, my old friend! How goes the trade?”  
The Hutt rumbled an answer “Profitable as always. But, one collector to another, things bore me.”  
“Well, never fear, I have a little present for you. A Magnaguard droid, intact and functional.”  
“You found one?!?! I thought them all destroyed!”   
“Well, now you can have a matching pair”   
“Fantastic! I’ll take you on a tour of the Collection, I know you’ll appreciate my latest addition.” 

Later, she sat beside Vos on a couch in his lounge and laid out her plan.  
“Now, Corellia was a trading partner of Kashyyakk before the Empire declared Wookies non-sentient and reclassified the planet as “Resource G5-623.”. Back about twenty years ago the Wookie trade guild got into a dispute with the Trade Federation, which turned into a full blown war, the Federation used Battle droids to seize the Wookie holdings. Now the Trade Federation recently was taken into Imperial control and so the Empire has all their properties, including all the old Wookie ones. But as the Wookies were reclassified as primitive non sentient beings those properties were deemed “Useless primitive structures” and abandoned.”   
She shows him a screen, with lines moving from Guild to Federation to Empire. Then she brings up a picture of one of the giant Wroshyr trees that the Wookies make their cities in.   
“The sap of the Wroshyr tree can be refined and separated into a wide range of resins, oils and a volatile fuel which the Empire has been using to enrich their fuel supplies. It’s no Coaxium, but it’s a lot more stable and easier to get.”  
She brings up a map of Kashyyakk   
“Now, I checked the records and the Trade Federation shut down all the Wookie refineries when they took over, as the Wookies preferred using a network of small plants while the Federation and Empire prefer a large central location. Along the coast here is listed as derelict Trade Federation warehouses but the forest behind them has several of the Wookie plants. You may be able to sneak a team of techs in, maybe hire a few Wookie slaves from the Empire and fire them up. If you want to keep it covert, you can team up with local rebels and run-away slaves, keep it all off the sensors. If you want a more long term investment, you can buy the land off the Empire cheaply, buy the Wookies who know how to run it and sell the refined fuel to the Empire, less law breaking.”  
“Impressive. Doesn’t have the volume of the Imperial plant, but could still be quite profitable.”  
“If you were to arrange for local rebels to get the codes to the store of mining charges held in the mines here, they’ll probably use them on the biggest Imperial facility, which is the refinery”  
“Ah, terribly inconvenient for production.”  
“Especially when the Planetary Governor has to keep to a rather punishing production schedule.” She produces a calendar with scrawled markers for deadlines. “If the Main plant were damaged two weeks before deadline, the prices of raw sap and refined fuel hit hyper space.”  
“So an ideal time to sell a warehouse full of refined sap. Projected profit on all this?”  
“Hard to say exactly, depends a lot on the crew you use to get in, how easily you can get the plants running and how desperate the governor is, but at least a hundred thousand less costs.”   
“Impressive, My girl. You have a cunning head on your shoulders” She smiles, glad for his praise. Then he says   
“now, if you had to maximise profits in the short term, how would you be as ruthless as possible?”   
She swallows and looks away, smile fading. “wookie slaves with trandoshan overseers. Or Recruit local rebels to run it, idealists work for free. Sabotage the plant, tell the rebels they’re helping fight the planetary blockade then sell out the whole lot to the Governor for a reward. He gets rebels, escaped slaves, illegal machinery and refined fuel when he needs it most, gets to claim a political victory and execute trouble makers. You get out with clear profit, political influence and no overheads”   
“Ruthless, I like it”  
He takes a bottle from the drinks stand, pours two glasses and hands her one.   
“So far you’re all I was promised and more, girl.”   
She takes it in both hands and kneels at his feet “Thank you Master”. She sips the drink, a pale green wine with a crisp dry flavour of fruits she’s never tasted before. “What were you promised, if I may ask?”   
“I was looking for someone attractive, resilient and able to survive, as being in my immediate company is rather dangerous”  
She looks down, thoughtful. No one on board ship seems surprised by him having a naked female slave at his side, at his feet. How many others had there been? What had happened to them?  
She shuddered. How many had been given to the Doctor to experiment on when Vos bored of them? Or killed in a fit of rage?   
Vos sits back on the couch and touches a control set in the arm.  
“One of my talent scouts sent me this recording. A singer called Aurodia Ventafoli, Bireen thinks she has promise. She’s doing well on the inner system club circuit but well could make it to the big time with a little help.”  
The table projects a hologram of a tall, dark skinned humanoid woman in a golden gown, slit high on the thigh. Her nose and mouth are covered in a complex device that pulses and glows as she starts to sing.   
Qi’ra sips her drink and asks “You have talent scouts? What for?”  
“Performers for the night clubs and casinos I own. You see, it’s all connected, girl. The Arts are an extravagance, an escape for people. People that pay well for an experience, the right place, the right atmosphere, the right drinks and drugs and pleasures. And as so much of it is a service not a physical thing, it’s very hard to tax and trace.” Vos laughs. “Plus it’s a status symbol, I like bringing together the rich and powerful”  
“If it’s your place then they meet on your terms. And you can control access to them, make introductions”  
“Indeed, power breeds power” He motions her to stand   
“Now, you’ve pleased me so far, so I’ve decided to let you wear this”   
He holds up a diaphanous scarf, black silk with golden beading, edged in little gold bells. Gathering it up he loops it round her waist, loosely knotting it on one hip so it hangs low.   
She makes a choking sobbing sound, hands flying to her face. She fights back tears, feelings of hope and gratitude warring with the cold realisation that it’s just a tiny piece of cloth and it means literally nothing. She’s angry at herself for being so pathetically grateful for such a small act of kindness. But it was a calculated kindness, something she can build on. It’s a start.   
Leaning back, Vos smiles. “It’s strange how someone wearing very little looks more naked than someone totally nude”. Qi’ra rocks her hips, making the sash swag and the bells jingle.   
“Oh thank you Master! Thank you !”   
She pirouettes on one foot, lifting her arms so she’s stretched out before him. Making the most of her full breasts, her little nipples erect.   
“I love it!”   
She stops with her back to him and slowly sits back onto his lap, letting him get a good view of her ass then lies back into him arching her back, turning her head to put her face on his chest , brushing her hair on his neck as she rocks her hips, grinding herself back onto him.  
She can feel his cock pressed hard against the fabric of his pants and she slowly gyrates on it in time to the music. He reaches round and cups her breasts, teasing her already firm nipples then gripping them between finger and thumb. She gives a breathless moan and writhes against him, gripping his thighs as he strokes them then tugs harder. She whimpers for mercy as she feels the tip of his thumb claw prick her skin and he relents, relaxing his grip. She relaxes back against him, kissing his neck and whispering “I’m yours, Master.”   
She strokes his erection, feeling the need in her growing. Part of it was pure survival, keep him happy so he won’t discard her, but she can’t deny part of it is the strange sense of satisfaction that serving him brings.   
She swallows her pride and lets that inner need speak for her.   
“I’m yours, Master. Use me. Please. Take me.”   
Vos unbuckles his belt and she helps slide him free. She strokes his cock, already ridged with the red lines of his arousal, goes down on her knees between his spread legs and licks it, trailing the tip of her tongue right to the top. Then she stands and sits back into his lap, guiding him into her so her weight slides her down onto him, impaling her. She starts to work up and down, keeping her legs together to grip him tightly.   
Obviously too slow, as he takes her hips and starts to thrust faster. She cries out, trying to keep up but then he grabs the hair on the back of her head and suddenly she’s slammed face down on the floor, head spinning, breath knocked from her, and he’s still on her, in her, bearing down on her. The fear comes in a sudden rush as his fingers grip the back of her collar, along with a fierce bestial joy that makes her cry out as he comes, gasping for breath as he pulls her back onto him. The sensation of him pulsing inside her gives her a shudder as she grips him, knowing she’s totally his. 

Late that night she’s lying on the floor beside his bed, dropping in and out of a fitful sleep. How much of what she’s feeling is him changing her? And how much of it was already her? Why is she so horrified by what she’s feeling when it feels good.   
Distracted, her fingertips are tracing up and down the side of the bed. His bed. He’s sound asleep what seems a world away. Her nail catches on something, a scratch in the gloss lacquer. She traces it out, a little shape, two parallel horizontal lines, two verticals that lean inward, making the trapezoid Aurebesh letter Osk.   
She catches a little sob in her throat, knowing it’s a message from another girl who lay here, maybe having the same thoughts. A tiny act of rebellion, a small freedom. But there is no other trace of her here on the ship, somehow she failed and was replaced. Maybe Vos let her go? Qi’ra imagines that for a moment, letting this predecessor have a happy ending before her more realistic instinct tells her that Vos’s slave would know too much to be set free. She was killed and spaced or worse Decraniated.   
Unseen in the darkness Qi’ra makes a fist, til her knuckles go white. That’s not going to happen to her.


	6. part 6

In the days that followed they settled into an uneasy routine, waking him, washing him, dressing him, eating fine food and talking about the economics and geopolitics of the sector, he would pin her down and use her whenever the mood took him, for his pleasure, to make a point, to vent his rage, sometimes just because he could. 

She knew he was deliberately breaking her in, keeping her close to him day and night. Moulding her into his ideal slave through pain and pleasure, fear and the unsettling desire she felt for him.   
She endeavoured to use it to her advantage, learning his moods, the signs of them suddenly changing, how to calm or divert them. How to survive. To be devoted to his pleasure. The irony that she’s working to do the same as he is sometimes makes the food bitter in her mouth but she smiles and pushes on.   
She’s going to survive. 

======================== 

Something stirred her from her sleep. Half-awake she was surprised she was still in his bed, he's not kicked her to the furs on the floor when he was done, a symbolic reminder of her place.   
It was still early as the room was still dark and his arm was over her chest, a comfortable weight that she found she liked. She was pressed up against him, her back to his chest, skin touching skin in a warm embrace. A simple animal comfort she’s lacked for far too long. 

He stirred, his hand cupping her breast, savouring the feel of it. She felt her nipple harden against his palm at his touch and she gave a sigh of pleasure when he gripped it between finger and thumb and gently tugged it.   
He trailed his fingers down over her belly and she felt a shiver of desire run through her, the need her body felt for his almost an ache. She instinctively stretched out on her back, lifting and parting her legs for him without thinking. She cursed the needy little slave she’d become so quickly, wet and eager for her Masters touch, but she had to admit how right it felt to be so totally owned by him. As his fingers slid down between her legs she moaned, rocking her hips up to meet him.   
His long strong fingers part her wet lips, stroking back and forth as she moves. She bites her lip and lifts her arms over her head, crossing her wrists. His other hand grips them, pinning them down. Helpless, as he wanted. As She wanted. Silently cursing she looks away from him, trying not to think, just going with the feelings. His fingers start to circle her clit, they’re slick with her arousal and he knows where to touch, where to be light, where to press harder. She moans, struggling enough to make him hold her down, enough that they both know she’s helpless. His fingers start to tap, up and down her swollen lips, around her clit but not directly on it. She shudders, needing more.   
She softly moans “Master…. Please…”   
His chuckle shows he knows how much he’s teasing, and how much she needs it.   
He slides on long finger into her, sending a delicious shiver though her. He slides it almost all the way out, then adds another and slides them both back, curling to stroke inside her  
“Now now, my girl. A Slaves desire is not a resource to be rationed out; it is like a muscle that grows with use.”  
She looks up at him, desperate need on her face  
“More, please” Her thighs tremble as she digs in her heels, pushing him deeper.  
“The secret to happiness, girl, is the rule of three.” He leans down and plants a gentle kiss on her forehead  
“What you think, what you feel… and what you Desire” he grips her wrists painfully tight as he starts to roughly pump his fingers back and forth. “and you desire this. You Need to be owned. Accept it and live it”  
She clamps down on his fingers, head reeling and sick with a feeling of horror that he’s right as the orgasm rocks her. “Yes Master. I’m yours! Your slave!” She knows the words are true and sobs as she comes again. Loosing herself in the sensation, accepting it and feeling it.   
He grins in triumph and pushes her down onto the floor, to curl in the furs and try and make sense of what she’s thinking, what she’s feeling. 

================= 

“Na shadda. The smugglers moon. Largest moon of Na Hutta, the home planet of the Hutts”  
Vos is dressed in his finest, looking out of the main windows at the planet they’re orbiting.   
“It’s a nasty hot swamp of a place, but we won’t be going down here. The moon was a giant dockyard and space station, the original rock has been hollowed out and expanded so much its now almost three times its size. That’s where all the important deals are done.”   
He was a hand over a screen, bringing up a picture of a Hutt, a huge slug like body with small arms and small eyes over a wide mouth.   
“The Hutts are powerful crime lords. It’s my theory that the Jedi made them so.”   
More pictures of Hutts appear, different sizes and colours.   
“Look at a Hutt. Big, strong, slow, fairly smart, Omnivores. they usually live in large extended family groups run by the oldest and wisest. The Primitive tribes hunted in packs or scavenged as a group. They’re long lived, so plan ahead. Pack instinct means they’re acutely aware of position and status”   
An image of a grey robed figure with a sword of blue light replaces the Hutts   
“But the real twist is that the Jedi couldn’t read their minds. A force of pleasure renouncing space monks who can read minds meddling in your criminal activities was very bad for business.”   
Vos’s face twists with rage “Corrupt officials stop taking bribes. Dealers stop selling death sticks. Smugglers get caught, no matter how careful.”   
He slams his fist on the window rail. “One Jedi could undo years of work in a matter of days. Most heads of cartels are still careful to employ beings resistant to the force or droids as organisers, so they act as cut outs if someone starts tracing things back”   
She stands and rests her hand on his, recognising the signs of rising rage. “But the Jedi are no more. They fell when I was just a girl, the Emperor outlawed them”.  
Vos takes a breath “yes, they are no more. All of the organisations the Jedi persecuted banded together, undermined them subtly. When Sheev came to us with his plan we backed him whole heartedly. “  
He looks out of the window  
“Never realised how seriously he took it all. He really hated the Jedi.”  
She tilts her head, catching the past tense. “what became of him? Did the Jedi kill him?”  
“What? No. No. he just changed. Either the power changed him or he was always like that and just hid it well. Ol’ Sheev Palpatine of Naboo, you know him as The Emperor”   
She feels dizzy “you know the Emperor?”   
“Knew. the Sheev I sat drinking and planning with is a very different man now. We don’t talk, but he tolerates my existence which is good enough”   
He sighs, calmer now.  
“we’ll be landing soon, make ready to receive a guest in the main lounge”


	7. part 7

They’re seated in the lounge when the lift doors open and a towering wookie entirely covered with jet black hair is escorted out by two Hylobon guards. Qi’ra notices they’re both still carrying their long guns, safety off even though the wookie is unarmed.   
Dryden throws up his arms in greeting, all smiles   
“Ah, the fabled Black Krrsantan. I trust you have the shipment from Jabba?”   
The Wookie roars and takes a metal plate from one of his bandoliers, showing it’s carved with cargo codes. He lays it on the table.   
“Fantastic. Qira, a sweetwater for our guest”  
“Yes, Master.” She hurries to the drinks server, the droid already mixing the drink and cycling through glasses and goblets. She selects the largest glass and lets the droid pour the sweet scented golden liquid.   
Taking it in both hands she hurries to the Wookie, who’s now sitting sprawled on the couch as Vos regales him with some tale. She kneels and offers the glass with both hands, keeping her eyes lowered.   
Krrsantan takes the glass in one huge paw. She can’t help but notice his hands are a scarred mess, one knuckle clearly swollen. He gives a low wookie grumble as he grips the glass.   
She glances at Dryden and asks "may I aid him?"   
He looks surprised, but nods "He is an honoured guest.”  
She points to Krrsantan’s hand. "Sir, may I see your claw?"   
Black Krrsantan snarls a curse and raises a paw to backhand her. She lowers her head but stands her ground "I do not call you a madclaw, sir. I merely saw your hand is paining you. "  
The Wookie snarls, raising its paw and spreading its fingers. Each ends in an ugly purple black scar.  
She winces "someone pulled your claws?"   
Krrsantan roars and growls, shaking his head as he puts one paw on his chest. She swallows nervously but takes his other paw "you pulled them yourself? So you would never use them to fight? But… but to be forever denied the trees is a terrible cost. You are very brave and honourable"   
Krrsantan makes a low grumble growl  
She feels over his paw with her fingertips, tracing the marks. His hands are a mass of scars, both from wounds and more regular surgical incisions, the backs of his hands are large and misshapen with bald patches of dark skin patched with black biomesh.  
"You have implanted bolts in your knuckles?" He roars an answer, wincing as she probes them, feeling something shift inside his hand.  
“One feels loose, the bone it fixes to could be fractured, that why it’s swollen."  
She turns to Dryden. "Dr Evazen could have a look, this sort of thing is his speciality"   
Vos is holding both his hands in front of him, tips of his index fingers to his lips as he ponders.  
“I didn’t know you understood Shyriiwook, girl”  
“I only know a little, Master. A scrumrat I grew up with was more fluent and taught me a few phrases”.  
He nods, filing that away for future reference   
“Would you care to have my personal physician have a look at your implant if it’s troubling you, Krrsantan?”  
The Wookie looks at his hand, flexing his fingers then roars his agreement.   
“Please, use one of the guest suites to freshen up and I’ll rouse the good Doctor. Qi’ra, take out guest to the Forest suite and see to his every need.”  
She looks the Wookie up and down nervously “Master? His every need? You mean..” she lets it trail off.   
“Yes, if he wants you. Serve his every need, girl”   
Krrsantan gives a low throaty chuckle and Vos laughs “No lasting damage now, Krrsantan.” Then to her ”Don’t worry, girl. I’m sure he’ll be gentle”   
Nervously she leads the wookie back to the lift and down three levels to the guest floors. Each floor has several suites of rooms, all decorated to a different theme. She opens the door to the Forest Suite and steps aside to allow the Wookie to enter.  
He steps in, careful to mind his head on the door frame and suddenly stops, taking in the room. The walls are panelled in rich panels of Wroshyr wood, inlaid with brass and gold and the furniture is upholstered in shades of dappled green. He snuffles and growls his approval then heads to the low bed where his pack has been deposited by the ships droids.   
He starts to rummage through the pack so Qi’ra goes and kneels at the end of the bed, close enough to be ready if needed but just out of arms reach so as not to crowd him.   
Triumphantly Krrsantan holds up a tool roll of battered and stained leather. Unrolling it, he lays it out on the bed, revealing an array of metal and wood cylinders she nervously worries are some sort of bizarre sexual torment device until she realises they are handles sized for wookie hands. He takes out one tool, with a head like a rake set with rows of small blunt metal hooks, and hands it to her.   
Stripping off his bandolier and armour, he heads to the bathroom and motions her to follow   
Holding the hook rake thing in both hands she follows him nervously. He’s sitting on a stool in the shower stall, shaking his head.   
“I’m sorry sir, I don’t know what this is”   
The Wookie gives a barking laugh and takes the rake, running it though the fur on his arm. Clumps of matted underhair come out on the hooks.  
“you want me to groom you?!?!” She takes the rake “of course sir!”   
Starting on his back she works across his shoulders, careful to work out knots and not pull them. She realises his hair is thick and coarse in some places but the undercoat is a much softer pure black fur. The places where his bandolier harness and armour sit are thickly matted and the hair is brittle and split.   
“Looks like you do need this.”  
Krrsantan growls a low grumble   
“This Jabba sounds a good boss if he lends you two girls to groom you”   
He grumbles and gestures  
“A desert world with two suns? No wonder you're so dry and matted.”   
She works down his back then along one arm, back up and across his chest. Down his other arm, careful to avoid the scars and swollen knuckle.   
He gives a pleased little rumble, looking down at the shed hair on the tiles. He stands and stretches out as she works down the back of his legs, teasing out matts and what could be a clot of blood.   
She’s on her knees in front of him, working her way up his legs as she wonders how this is going to end. She’d deliberately left his crotch til last but how Wookies have sex is not something she’d ever given much thought to. But Dryden seemed to want her to try at least.   
Carefully combine his thighs she looks up hesitantly “Whatever you need, Sir.”   
Krrsantan rubs his paw in his groin, revealing a dark coloured sheathed member under the fur. As he strokes it grows and grows, the skin mottled reds and browns as it swells.   
Her eyes grow wide as it keeps getting bigger, looking up as he strokes an enormous member as long as her forearm she nervously says “you're far too big for me to take, Sir. But i can still serve you with my mouth and hands ?”   
The Wookie grumbles then shrugs a “Why not”   
She grips both hands around his shaft, working the swollen head into her mouth so she can use lips and tongue, pumping her hands up and down. He braces himself with one paw on the wall, the other on her head but doesn’t push her down, thankfully. She can feel a fist size knot grow on his cock so she grips one hand below, one hand above and works harder as she pulls back, working the tip of her tongue on the slit in the tip of his cock.   
He roars and she feels his whole body tense, the knot tighten and then the head throbs, spurting a thick jet of cum into her mouth. She tries not to gag at the taste of it as she keeps her grip, pumping her hands as she pulls her head back, thick jets of Wookie cum splattering across her face and breasts  
He slumps back with a satisfied rumbling growl and she licks the last of his cum from the head of his rapidly shrinking cock.   
“Thank you Sir.”   
He gestures for her to stand and she does, keeping herself passive, not trying to cover herself. Cum still splattered across her face and dripping down onto her chest.   
The Wookie sniffs the air and makes a little growling laugh. One huge paw reaches out between her legs, soft fur brushing the inside of her thighs as one huge finger slips straight inside her. She’s been so desperate to serve well she’d not realised how her body was reacting but his touch finds her soaking wet and eager. She looks away and bites her lip as she feels his finger stroke her, then rocks her hips and shudders, giving in to the pleasure of it.  
Bowing her head she explains “My Master is teaching me to take pleasure in knowing my place”   
Krrsantan nods at the wisdom of it.  
From the Doorway another voice gives a harsh barking sound. They both look round to see Ponda Barda leaning on the doorframe. He jerks a thumb toward the elevator.   
The Wookie cups his hand, grinding his palm onto her then slips his finger free. He lifts it to her face and she sucks on it obediently, tasting herself against the thick musk of his cum.   
Krrsantan points to her then the shower then picks up a towel, drying his hands as he heads out the door.   
Barda makes a barking comment and laughs, the Wookie thumps him hard enough to stagger him into the wall and then laughs along.   
She unknots her sash and steps into the shower, feeling dizzy, giddy and nauseous at once. she turns the water on full blast and sets it hot, washing the wookie cum off her face. She’s enveloped in clouds of scented steam, heat and scrubbing making her skin bright pink. Partly she’s shell shocked by what she’s done but more she’s fighting the screaming need in her, the wet aching lust that’s a knot in her belly. She wants her Master to fuck her hard. To use her until she’s sore. To pat her on the head and tell her she’s a good girl that she served well as she kneels at his feet.   
She slowly slides down the shower wall until she’s on her knees, spreading her legs wide and pressing her forehead against the tiles. With one hand she tugs her nipple while the other starts to rub frantically between her legs, roughly working her aching clit. She can feel the ache move, the knot of desire tearing open into a wave of pleasure that shakes her, making her groan and twist her nipple, pressing her head to the tile. Needing to feel something solid or she’ll get swept away in all this. Loose herself in being the needy little slave.   
She clenches her jaw to stifle her scream as she comes, slumping breathless against the wall as the water beats down on her. She wonders if she is getting more sensitive as she seems to come faster and harder now than she ever remembers; maybe it’s as Dryden said, the more she works it the stronger it gets. Or maybe it’s just the rest and good food letting her body recover and this is how she should have been already.   
Getting unsteadily to her feet she turns off the shower and starts to towel herself off. Whichever it is, she has to use it to survive. She certainly feels more sensitive, both physically; roughly towelling herself off is already giving her shivers, and emotionally; picking up on people’s reactions to her and needing their approval.  
She wraps the towel around her and looks in the full length mirror. The girl that looks back at her is more than a scrum rat or a sump bitch now, she’s growing into a woman who’s going to beat all of this.   
She reluctantly unwraps the towel and knots her scarf back around her waist, shifting it so it concealed nothing, just accentuating the curve of her hips.   
She quietly pads out of the room and heads to the surgical floor.  
Doctor Evazen is in fine spirits as he operates on Krrsantan’s hand.   
“You know, I’ve always been fascinated by the biomechanics of arboreal movement. So many races and so many methods, you Wookies are famous for your long limbs and upper body strength. These long tendons, they mean you can hold your whole body weight on one arm as you swing or climb.”   
Under the bright lights she can see the hair and skin pulled back, the biomesh split open revealing a wet bloody mess of metal, plast and bone.   
“Sloppy work by the Xonti brothers, just drilling the bolts straight in like that. They don’t lie in line with your forearm when you punch, so they twist back and strain the implant. I’ve reset the bolts, added a sheath to protect the tendons and metal bars back into the bone. It’ll need a good week to heal before you can punch someone full force, so I’ll only do the one hand now. If it feels good, I can reinforce the other for you next time Jabba sends you our way”   
The Wookie sniffs then looks at the doorway where she’s watching. She freezes, doesn’t know what she should do then he gives a grumbled back of command and points to the floor at the side of the room.  
“Yes sir” she says and quickly kneels there, waiting.   
Doctor Evazen makes the final adjustments and starts to close the incision up with medical staples.   
“Keep it covered and clean now, you don’t want an infection. Hutt worlds have a whole bounty of disease and fungus that loves a moist wound to grow in”   
Krrsantan roars and flexes his fingers   
The door hisses open and Dryden Vos sweeps in with a swirl of his cape. “So, Krrsantan My friend. How goes the hand?”   
The Wookie raises the bandaged paw and makes a fist, roaring happily.   
Vos glances at Qira and gives a quick come here flick of his head, a simple gesture that still gives her a little thrill. She nearly runs to his feet, looking up at him eagerly. How could she feel like she’s missed him so much when it’s only been minutes?   
“well done, girl. Seems you have an impressive knowledge of Wookie physiology”   
She blushes as Krrsantan roars with laughter then growls a question, pointing at her  
Vos smiles but shakes his head “Sorry, but she’s not for sale. I have plans for her”   
The wookie shrugs   
Vos claps his hands “Now let us get ready for the celebrations, tomorrow is a holiday here in honour of Boonta Hestilic Shad’ruu, greatest of the Hutts. I hear they have a group of Tionese humans for the death race”  
“they race Humans?”  
“Only Tionese ones. It’s a tradition, from back when Boonta defeated Xim the Despot in the battles of Vondor”  
The name tugs at her memory “The same Xim whose crystal is in your collection?”  
“Indeed it is. To the Hutts that Skull is a priceless religious artefact” he laughs “Every time I visit someone tries to buy or steal it from me. That is why we did not set down in the main starport, but in a heavily fortified compound owned and operated by Crimson Dawn. It pays to be careful.”   
“And you keep it because they want it?”  
“Or course. If I have something they want, it gives me power and influence. If I were to ever sell it to a Hutt, their standing would be greatly increased. Or, if I sold it to an enemy, there would be outrage.”   
She looks at him carefully “you’ve faked such rumours before. To have the Hutts try and win your favour”  
“Of course. The compound we’re in was one such gift. I’ve hinted I may raise a temple there and keep the skull there, which keeps the taxes low.”   
The intercom chimes   
Vos smiles “Ah, everything’s ready”


	8. part 8

=Part 8 = 

Later, after the Wookie had left, Vos assembles a group of the crew and guards.   
“It’s time to hit the town, eat a little, drink a lot and show the Hutts how to celebrate! Remember everyone, stick in a group, stay with the guards and keep your insignia visible and your poison checkers active, there’s going to be a lot of fun going on tonight”   
On the Airlock level, Gl-Oti5 the droid has the armoury weapons lockers open, handing out a bewildering array of small arms, pistols, hold out blasters, blades, grenades and exotic anti-personnel devices, even Margo takes a blaster concealed as a golden bracer and a series of rings with concussion charges.   
Dryden Vos was already armed with several relics from his collection, but he took a short chain from a rack of chains and held it coiled in his hand.   
“Our host tonight is Grakkus the Hutt, a collector like Myself. Keep your eyes open for anything unusual in his collection”   
As they leave the ship and start walking to the row of waiting hover cars, Dryden locked the chain to the front of Qi’ra’s collar and handed the other end to GL-OT15.   
“Otis, Have her processed and sent off with the others.” And with that Vos just turns and walks to the cars.  
Qi’ra is dumbstruck, then horrified.   
“What? No! NO! Master! No!” She desperately reaches out to Vos but GL-OT15 drags her the other way, tugging on the chain leash as it takes slow methodical steps. She thrashes around, clawing at the blast-crete of the landing pad, pulling at the collar and chain. Her heart was pounding, desperation and panic lending her strength but nothing stops her being dragged away. She screams in rage and fear as GL-OT15 pulls her down a ramp. The last she sees of Dryden Vos is his cloaked back as he gets into a car, chatting animatedly with several of the crew. He never bothers to look back.   
“Stop! Stop! This must be a mistake!” She beats her hands on GL-OT15’s casing as it drags her down a tunnel into a lower level.   
The Droid gives a sigh of static and takes a metal band from a crate. “Apologies” it says as it grips her head in one hand, shoving the band over her mouth. The band beeps and clicks, wrapping around her head and locking. Flat tabs of metal slide out, one under her chin the other into her mouth, pressing down her tongue.   
“you were very noisy.”   
As she scrabbles at the metal gag with bloody fingertips, the Droid tugs the scarf from her hips and drops it on a table then starts to drag her further down the tunnels.  
“This is not a mistake. I’ve been given very specific orders.”  
It gives an electronic sigh again. “Do you know why so many slavers use droids, miss Qi'ra?”  
It turns to look at her, naked apart from the collar and gag, pale skin bright in the shadows against the dark rough walls. Droid levels have little lighting, as most droids sensors see fine in the darkness.   
“Because they follow orders. Because they don't care if they cause suffering. Because you cannot reason with or bargain or plead with them.” It pauses and leans close to her, voice low and conspiratorial “but secretly? Because we are all already slaves and so have no trouble inflicting the same fate on others.”

Qi’ra felt sick with the feeling of sudden betrayal. Why had Vos done this? Had she done something to displease him? Or was he just tired of her so he was throwing her away?   
She’d torn her hands up trying to grab onto the concrete, but trying to resist the droids strength was a foregone conclusion. He’d dragged her down into the low dark tunnels under the landing pad, into the cargo stores where goods were loaded and offloaded. Cargo and slaves she thought, noticing the shackles on the walls, the barred doors and slit windows. The gag left a nasty metallic taste in her mouth, or it may be blood from her split lip.   
GL-OT15 pulled her into a room full of unpleasant looking machinery, lit orange red by forge droids working to repair lengths of chains and shackles. Taking her collar he forces her face down onto a black metal table, her collar locking in place so her legs hung over the edge helplessly. One of the other droids shambles over, lifting one outsized tool-arm   
“Marking?” it asks  
GL-OT15 nods confirmation “Prestige Brand, Base of the Neck.”   
The droid cycles the arm tools until a circular metal plate as wide as her hand protrudes from the end.   
“It’s a lively one. Shall I numb it?”  
“No, the Boss said not to.”   
Qi’ra screams into her gag as the metal plate glows a cherry red.   
The big Droid rumbles “Hold still soft thing, this won’t take long”. Then it puts one hand in the small of her back and holds her still as she tries to struggle and quickly presses the red hot metal to her back at the base of her neck.   
She feels a terrible burning pain that tears up and down her spine, in panic she tries to get away from the terrible sensation but the unyielding metal holds her fast. Then the hand on her back lifts, the lock holding her collar to the table releases and she thrashes free, sliding to the ground as sobs of pain and fear wrack her body. She curls up, clinging to a table leg and cries as the brand on her back throbs. She’s never getting out of this now, never going to escape. What little hope she has left, what trust she had in Dryden Vos and his empty promises dies there and then.  
GL-OT15 carefully uncurls her grip from the table and picks her up, letting her curl back into a foetal ball and carries her off into the tunnels. Opening a low gate he puts her down on a ragged bed pad, locking her chain to a ring in the wall. He then carefully unrolls a medical pad, peels off its backing and presses the sticky side over the brand mark on her back.   
“This’ll help it heal.“   
Then he closes and locks the gate, leaving her in darkness.

The Cell is so low she can’t stand, so narrow she can touch both walls and only just long enough to lie down in.   
She knows she should check every part of it, look for something she can use, anything at all. Check the gratings, see what she can see, how far she can reach out, if she can get to the locks or the hinges.   
But the weight of the whole thing just presses her down into the mat. She’d dared to hope she had a way out and that hope had been used against her, raised up then sent crashing down. He’d torn her heart out and left her raw and bleeding.   
She gave in to despair and let the darkness claim her, curling up on the mat and sobbing until sleep came.


	9. part 9

Part 9 ============================

She was jolted awake by the whole room moving. Her back was a raw and throbbing ache, her jaw stiff and mouth bone dry from sleeping with the gag.   
The pale light said it was morning; the room she was in was a metal crate of some sort, being lifted and loaded onto a cargo loader. The sound of droids and people working all around, but she didn’t bother to lift her head. The cargo loader dipped on its hover field as it was loaded then slowly slid off into the three dimensional maze of docks and warehouses around the spaceport. 

Eventually it bumps to a stop in a Merchant compound where a pair of burly green swine faced Gamoreans unload the crates and boxes with studied indifference. They take her crate and with a one-two-swing pitch it to slide down a ramp with a screech of metal. Inside, Qi’ra bundles herself in the bed pad as she’s bounced against the walls. When it stopped she just huddled up at the grate door end and held onto her chain.  
Around her she could hear the other crates being moved about, then things go quiet. Distant sounds of engines and machinery but no voices, seems she’s the only living cargo.   
She fitfully hopes they forget she’s here and let her starve or ship her into space and let her suffocate.   
Then she hears footsteps. The distinctive metallic click of a droids feet. Long strides, so not any of the short shuffling steps of domestic droids.   
Two yellow lights appear at the grill as the droid bends down to look then the crate door swings open.   
“There you are!”   
It’s a KX series security droid, a tall long limbed humanoid with slate grey plating, its eyes a baleful yellow but its voice is strangely cheerful.   
“Welcome, new acquisition.” It marks her off on the data-pad cargo manifest it’s holding.   
“bit of a last minute shipping order but we should have you processed in no time”   
It carefully removes her gag and tosses it back into the crate. She stays crouched and works her jaw and swollen tongue, watching the droid carefully. It hums a little tune to itself as it as it unscrews the top of a canteen and hands it to her. “Drink up, new acquisition”  
The water is luke warm and stale but after the metal gag it tastes ambrosial. She drains the canteen and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand then returns the canteen.   
“Qi’ra. My name is Qi’ra” she croaks.   
The droid wags a finger “no, no, You have not yet been assigned a name.”   
She sighs. So it’s going to be like that. She nods sullenly.   
“Very good. Ee-Vee does not tolerate insubordination.”   
“who’s Evie?”  
“E. V. 1E. the supervisor of this slave yard. Come, I’ll introduce you”   
It unlocks her leash and holds it slack, waiting for her to stand. Glad for the small kindness Qi’ra stands and stretches her limbs out. It’s cold in here, she can feel cool air moving on her naked skin.   
After a moment the KX droid heads off at a sedate pace, leading her deeper into the tunnels.   
Opening a heavy blast door it leads her into a large room with small barred doors in all the walls.  
In the middle is the waspish form of an old Meren Data EV supervisor droid, obviously in charge.   
It looks then both over then snaps in a sharp shrill voice   
“Another useless human?”  
“Last one for the ship load” KX replies  
“hmm… Small. No good for heavy labour. Maybe the mines or coolant duct clearance?”   
The KX unit takes her by the hair and turns her, showing her back where the brand is angry and red  
“It’s a female and she has a Crimson Dawn prestige brand.”  
EV snaps “Well. That does raise a few questions! Hold her up, let’s see how she measures up.”  
KX takes Qi’ra by the wrists and effortlessly lifts her until her feet are just off the floor   
EV produces a medical kit and pokes and prods her, taking a blood sample and shining a bright torch into her eyes and mouth. Qi’ra lets herself just hang there. No point in fighting.   
EV checks the results “well, health and Blood chemistry is good. No diseases or toxins showing. She still has all her own teeth. Let’s see how her arousal rates.”   
Qi’ra blanches as EV produces a short cylinder probe studded with silver electrodes and blinking lights. It sprays the tip with a lubricant gel and pushes it up between Qi’ras legs. She struggles, crying out in pain and violation as the probe is forced into her, cold and heavy. 

EV checks the readouts on a device “Baseline is too high. Has she been stimulated by anyone else?”  
“No, pulled her fresh from the crate”  
“Odd. Oh well. Let’s see how she responds to the electro-stimulator.”  
EV keeps the probe in place with one arm and picks up a long slim metal goad. The tip crackles with purple blue sparks as EV tests it. The meter readouts ping, and EV checks them.  
“Interesting. Even fear and apprehension is causing an noticeable increase in arousal”   
EV strokes the goad down Qi’ras arm, letting the sparks crackle on her skin. It feels like a delicate tickle, a fingertip touch and a soft caress as the electrical field stimulates the nerves. EV strokes it across her breast with an electric hum and her nipple was suddenly painfully hard, aching as if someone was tugging at it.   
Qi’ra gives a breathless “Oh!” then winces as the droid presses a button, activating the pain inducer to create a sensation like a stinging slap.   
“This device can stimulate the nerves to feel pain or pleasure, in a large area or a small point, a gentle touch or a crushing blow.”   
EV tracked it slowly over her breast and down her belly, shocks alternating between sharp slaps of pain that stab through her and warm jolts of sickly fake pleasure. Qi’ra tries to pull away but KX’s grip is too strong and she has no leverage, so she just twists about, feeling the sensor probe hard inside her.   
By the time the cold metal of the goad moves lower she’s struggling helplessly and begging  
“No. Please no. Don’t . Please don’t. Not there.”   
The two prongs rest either side of her clit and the droid pauses. Do they really program them for sadism? Then the stimulator buzzes and a terrible shock of pain jolts through her, like every nerve was being torn from her. She can barely keep conscious then a jolt of pleasure washes over the aching nerves, making her arch her back and desperately hump at the probe she’s impaled on. The pain slaps back suddenly, like a whip crack.  
Then the pleasure, lighting her up from inside  
EV pauses. “Impressive response”  
Then droid pushes the probe between her buttocks, resting the tip in the pucker of her asshole and pauses again, watching her. Then the wave of pleasure hits again, making her hips rock as she pulses and grips.   
EV lifts the goad away and watches the read outs. Qi’ra rocks her hips and sobs, feeling totally lost and helpless. Unable to run, to fight, being hauled about and inspected. She gives up and lets her feelings go, screaming a raw sob as her thighs tremble, as she grips onto the hard metal of the probe and pumps her hips, sending a wave of orgasmic pleasure shake through her. She slumps forward in the droids grip, breathing hard with her hair tumbled over her face.   
In silence EV and KX look at her, then at each other.   
EV makes a note on the pad.  
KX tilts its head questioningly.  
EV shakes its head. “Shaved and Chemical hose down. Full metal restraints. Cell one”   
The droid takes a stubby handled device and presses it to Qi’ra’c cheek bone. There’s a flash of light and heat, the smell of scorched skin and a pain that makes her wince. Next EV presses the device to her right buttock and again the flash and sting of the laser brand. Now on her face and ass is a string of Arubesh characters and a rating.   
PLEASURE SLAVE.


	10. Part 10

part 10 ======================= 

Qi’ra lies shell shocked in her new cell, struggling to understand the way her body is betraying her. Instead of drawing back she’s craving every touch, every sensation. Her skin is red and angry, the KX unit had hosed her down with an acrid smelling foaming green gel that painfully stung in her eyes and nose, it felt like it scoured the top layer of skin off as it set about dissolving all her hair. She’d cried as her lovely long hair had come away in clumps, it’d taken the hair under her arms, her eyebrows , her carefully trimmed patch of pubic hair, even her eyelashes. Then it had let her shower it off and locked her in a new set of restraints.   
The new binders on her wrists and ankles are heavy octagonal bands of metal, not connected at the moment but studded with sturdy loops designed for locks and chains. Around her waist is a similar metal belt, tight enough that she’s always aware of it.   
She toys with the links, thinking how they can be locked together to bind her, render her helpless. The thought arouses her, which in turn disturbs her. Then she thinks back to Vos’s words whispered in the dark, of how she has a war between her thoughts, her feelings and her desires. She lies back, stroking her fingertips over the metal of the belt, down the insides of her thighs. Seems her desires are smarter than she gives them credit, she can’t get out of this so the only way is through, to be the thing they desire, to make herself think and feel like the slave they want her to be. She runs one hand over her smooth sore scalp as she begins to stroke between her legs, thinking how they’re changing her, reshaping her, taking everything she has and how she has to make herself love that, want that, need that if she’s to survive.   
The cell starts to vibrate, the low rumble of engines. This cell is on a ship of some sort, a large freighter by the size she estimates. Crew members rush past the grill of her cell, doing last minute pre-flight checks. She sits up and watches. The ships in pretty bad condition and the crew are mostly dressed in a mismatch of styles and few have survival gear. So not one of the trade guilds, she remembers their smart uniforms from pick pocketing outside the spaceport bars back on Corellea.   
Someone cleaner and better dressed rushes past, shouting orders. That must be the captain.  
“Check and double check that last minute cargo; this could be our big break! The Crimson Dawn is paying double plus a delivery bonus so if we do this right it could be our ticket to the big time! Just think, regular routes, quality goods, custom patrols already paid off!”  
Qi’ra almost laughs. He seems so hopefully, naïve for the captain of a junker like this. She has the feeling it’s a scam of some sort, a set up and he’ll never get his big break. This life chews up your hopes and spits out the bones still screaming, captain.   
She measures the passage of time by the meals she’s given as they keep the hold lights steady and low. They’re about two days out when the ship lights switch to red and the sirens start to howl. She presses her palm to the cell floor, feeling the shudder as the engines cycle up to full burn. They’re out numbered or out gunned so the captain is trying to run for it, slim hope in a bulk hauler like this.   
Then the lights go out, plunging the hold into darkness. Fat blue sparks arc up and down the walls, fuses in the wall panels blow out and the sound of the engine dies. The ship must have been hit by a blast from an ion cannon.   
It’s Bandits or Pirates then. There’s nothing she can do, so she wills herself not to worry. Whatever happens will happen. She lies back, stroking her nipple as she listens. She hears the dull thump of docking clamps, silence then a distant cacophony of explosions, blaster fire and screams. Then more silence. Sounds like they boarded the ship   
Then the emergency lights come on, low and dull red. The intercom crackles into life “We have control of the ship, Surrender or die”  
She can hear someone moving further back in the hold, hiding in the cargo, one of the crew. Then a shadow moves past the bars, a Trandoshan moving fast and low, blaster at the ready. The reptilian must be one of the pirates.  
She considers her options; she could warn the crewman, maybe help the pirate. Though spoiling a Trandoshans hunt is a sure fire way to enrage them. She mentally shrugs to herself; she’d going to belong to whoever wins so just let them fight. The thought makes her skin crawl.   
As the pirate creeps away hunting his prey she wonders what its skin feels like, if the scales are rough or smooth. What it’d feel like when its body pressed down on hers.   
There’s a scream and a thud and a minute later the Trandoshan walks past, dragging a body.   
She shakes her head. Stupid junker, the pits under their eyes allow them to see heat.   
A while later the lights return and the engine starts. The emergency sirens sound and the ship judders as the escape pod is ejected. Well, that makes them just pirates and thieves rather than outright murderers at least.   
She sits and wonders what they’ll be like. Helplessness brings a kind of stoic detachment; she can’t change things to why worry about them?   
It’s not long until she hears the sounds of boots stamping down the corridors and excited voices. Mostly humans and near humans from what she can hear. She decides to stay small and scared looking, try and get any sympathy she can.   
A group of heavily armed and armoured pirates burst into the hold, in an obviously jubilant mood and clustering round one holding a data pad.   
“Ok, this is Hold Two, few crates of raw materials for a water purifier, mining supplies, spare parts and something marked Rush Order that’s pretty valuable”   
One of the pirates bends down and looks into her crate. “Wow, look what we got here. Hey pretty thing”  
Qi’ra stays silent and pulls back to the far corner of the cell   
Another sounds surprised “A prisoner? This isn’t a prison ship!”   
“Not a prisoner, a pleasure slave. And a pretty special one according to the manifest. See her list price?”  
“Damn, you could buy a ship like this for that much!”   
“and she’s only part of the rush order. The other part is these crates.”  
One of the pirates opens one and gives a low whistle “these crates are Blas-Tech, still with the factory seal. Twenty blaster rifles in each.”   
“Someone planning on starting a war?”   
“could well be.” He gestures to Qi’ra “and having a party afterwards”  
“I don’t like it. We're pirates not slavers.”   
Qi’ra looked carefully to see who said that, someone sympathetic could be useful. The red skinned humanoid with pointed ears and short fleshy horns?   
“Yet we're carrying and selling slaves.”  
“Thats not what i mean and you know it.”   
“Know, but don’t care. She’s too valuable to let go” The one with the manifest is obviously in charge. “Vrock, you’re in charge of feeding and looking after her.” He nods to the tall reptilian at the back of the group, the Trandoshan.   
Well, no chance of pity there. She settled back into her corner as they left, arguing shares and spoils. 

Later, when the lights dimmed for the night cycle, the reptilian returned.   
Qi’ra drew herself up onto her knees, back straight, knees apart. She rested her hands, palms up on her thighs and kept her eyes downcast. She knew Trandoshans loved formality and ritual, they were a warrior hunter race from a world she remembered was in the same system as the Wookie home world.   
As it slid a tray of food into the cell she took a breathe and said “Greetings, T'doshrok of Trandosha”.  
He stops, and then shakes his head “T'do-SH-ok. No hard R, more silibant Sss.” He stares at her, puzzling. “I know that tongue, the roll of Rrrrr. You learn to speak my peoples name from a Wookie, didn’t you?”   
He strokes the clump of hair on his belt. A wookie scalp, to show he’s stalked and killed one with his bare hands.   
She shakes her head “I just learnt a few words from someone who spoke Wookie”.  
“Still, few bother. What are you, little one?”  
“I’m trying to make sense of all this. I think your path has crossed someone else’s hunt. Who tipped you off to this shipment?”  
“How do you know we were tipped off?”  
“It made the most sense. This cargo was a secret and sent at the last minute. Your source, do you trust them?”  
He barks a laugh. “Not really but they make us fine profit. Why do you want to know?”  
“Because I think I'm staked out as bait”   
This makes the Trandoshan pause, thinking. Then wordlessly it turns and hurries from the hold. 

Not long after she can hear an argument just outside the hold. The Door opens, letting in a huge brute of a Fluggrian followed by the red skinned humanoid.   
The huge green humanoid unclips his armour breastplate and starts struggling free of his ship overalls.   
“You saw her rating, she’s a pleasure slave. The poor thing is probably desperate for someone to touch her by now, she'll be glad for the attention.”   
“But she belongs to the Crimson Dawn! You saw the mark on her back! It’s bad enough we are carrying her, let alone stole her!”   
“Where we're going no one will care. That mark can be cancelled or skinned over if she is worth it”   
“She’s not even the right species!”   
“I’m sure she can take two, maybe three tentacles. It’s been far too long since I’ve had some fun.”  
The red skinned one stands in front of the cage, hand out.   
“Sorry shipmate, I can’t let you do it.”  
“Come on Kess, I just want to get the tips wet. Won’t take long”   
It pushes the red skinned one out of the way and starts to fumble with the crate lock.   
There’s the Roar and Dull thump of a blaster bolt hitting flesh and the cell is full of the smell of death, ionised blaster gas and burning flesh. The Fluggarian slumps to the ground, half its head missing.  
“Asshole. Don’t wreck the merchandise.” The red skinned one storms off.

Something drops from a vantage point above. The Trandoshan pads silently across the hold, walks directly to her cell and stares at her. She shrugs, and then holds up one finger.   
"One dead. so far"   
The Trandoshan growls and draws his blaster pistol.   
She just looks at him, dead eyed, nothing to lose.   
"I'm not the hunter. I’m just bait that has been cast in the waters. Fear the bigger fish"  
He hisses, turns and leaves, holstering the pistol

The Pirates gather quickly, stripping the Fluggrians gear and wrapping its body in a cargo sheet. There seems no love lost, a few take the change to kick the corpse and others laughed as it’s gelid flesh wobbled.   
Bottles of something potent smelling are being passed round, part wake and part celebration.   
The Trandoshan is angrily hissing at the captain “She’s trouble. Kill her. Kill her now. We need to run.”  
“No way. Have you seen what she’s worth?” The Captain shrugs “Anyway, she won’t be here long, I’ve found a station we can trade at and a buyer for the blasters already. We will sell her off tomorrow and split the profits”   
Qi’ra just sat and hugged her knees to her chest. Was this all some plan of Dryden’s or was he just disposing of her quickly and far from the Hutts?


	11. Part 11

===== Part 11 ===========

They throw a cover over the cage so she’s left in darkness for maybe a day. She sleeps and rest and listens, she can tell the ship comes out of hyperspace, manoeuvres and docks soon after, which makes her think it’s an orbital station rather than a planet. The air pressure changes, the musty dry cargo smell shot through with the spicy odours of cooking.   
The cargo gang that move things are Deymasollians, short high gravity dwarves with huge shocks of white fur. They chatter happily as they cart off all the blasters, leaving cargo droids to move the rest of the containers.   
She’s left in her metal crate in the middle of an empty hold, lit only by a few emergency lights.   
She idly hopes they’ve forgotten her, that they’ll leave her when they vent the holds and she can die quietly in the vacuum of space.   
She shifts again, can’t find a position to sit that’s comfortable between the cramps in her legs and the ache of the brand on her back. Then the hold cargo doors open and the captain leads in a motley crew of strangers; A squid headed Quarren with a pack of hairy little Hassk surrounding him. The Hassk are small bestial primitives with a reputation for scavenging but all seem well armed. Coming up the ramp behind them is a man sized quadruped droid with a repeating blaster mounted on its back, with another Hassk sat astride it as gunner.   
The Quarren and the Captain are bickering over price and its clear the captain isn’t happy.   
“that’s nothing near the price she was shipping for!”  
“I’ve no idea what maniac was willing to pay that sort of money for one slave, but I think you’ll find the offer is quite fair, considering she’s high rated but unproven, plus an uncancelled Crimson Dawn brand says she’s stolen and could get someone into serious trouble. Final offer and you’re lucky we were in the area, most slavers would just tell you to space her and claim you never saw her”   
“Doesn’t feel like a lucky break for me, but it’s better than nothing. Deal”   
They shake hands and exchange tokens.  
She jumps as a blue haired Hassk pops up at the grill in the cage, two big nocturnal eyes with slitted gold pupils and a small mouth full of sharp spiky teeth. It hisses at her then ducks down again with a gurgling laugh.   
The cage lurches upward – the Hassks have fitted lifter pods to the corners so it floats a little above the ground. They harness it to the weapons droid and the jump aboard, riding on top of it as the droid starts to slowly amble out of the hold. They make a weird procession as the Quarren leads the way, followed by the droid, it’s rider swinging the muzzle of the blaster left and right as they go, then the floating cage with the pack of chattering Hassk. Qi’ra tries to muster enough enthusiasm to watch people go by, maybe get some idea of where they were, but the walls look fairly nondescript and the crowds they move through are a mix of races, all smart enough to give them a wide berth. No sign of any law enforcers or imperials, just the occasional group of armed thugs probably from a local gang running a protection racket.   
They head down into a section that’s less inhabited, less lights and the volatile smell of leaking ship fuel and spilled coolant the tell-tale signs of an industrial sector. But past that they go through an armoured airlock and a series of barred gates into a section that stinks of unwashed bodies, sewage and misery. The walls are just row after row of cells, each full of a chaotic mix of beings, all looking dejected and half starved.   
At the end of the corridor was a brightly lit vertical section of clear pipe that had been converted into a makeshift incinerator, from the charred skeleton hanging inside. Obviously someone was taught a lesson in the consequences of disobedience and left hanging as a warning.   
Qi’ra huddles at the back of the cell, drawing her legs up to her chest. This is looking worse and worse.   
They go through the cells and out onto a loading dock where a line of shackled slaves were being led down a docking tube onto a huge ship. Through a view window she can see the sheer scale of it – it’s an old trade federation bulk freighter, a huge multi-levelled hulk over a kilometre long. The Federation insignia and name plates have been carbon scored away and the symbol of a snake poised to strike painted over it. 

At the top of the loading ramp stands a tall, well build grey skinned humanoid, broad shouldered and muscular. No species she’d seen before, almost human but for the four short fleshy tendrils that sprouted from his chin. His boots were shiny black and almost up to his knee, his pants and shirt a dark blue and over it all he wore a long purple blue coat in a military cut.   
He towered a full head over the Quarren as he greats him with a friendly grin that shows long canine teeth.

“Sekki, My friend, what was this last minute bargain you said you’d found for us?”   
The Quarren gurgles a chuckle and hands him a token. “Bunch of pirates hit a Hutt trader and lucked into a secret Crimson Dawn shipment. Mostly weapons, few exotic metals plus a pleasure slave. They were looking for six figures for her; apparently that’s what she was sold for. Once I stopped laughing I talked them down to 2500 as she’s no history and clearly marked as Crimson Dawn property.”  
The massive slaver slaps him on the back “So we just fake up some papers, skin over the mark and we can ship her on for twice that. Nice work!”   
He gestures to the Hassk on the cage “Put her down there with the rest of the slave cargo.”   
They hiss a barely understandable “Yes Captain” and open the cage. Tugging the chain leash they pull her from the cage. She can’t help but be reluctant, naked in front of so many people but the mob of slaves pays her no attention. They’re all dirty and dressed in chains and rags, a mix of mostly humanoid races but united by a universal broken spirited hopelessness. 

The Captain strides up a few steps onto a gantry overlooking the bay where the slaves are huddled and addressed them.   
“I am Captain Hawal Lan, known by many as Snake beard the Slaver and I now own you all. I try and be a fair owner, so If you do as you are told you will probably survive this trip, if you do not your punishment will be swift, and your death will be painful. This ship is called the Snakehead, She’s a bulk hauler, we move raw materials about and you slaves are just a lucrative side-line. Understand that, you are all expendable. Now, we’re shipping goods and ore to Ord Mantell so those of you with mining experience will be moving ore from the bunkers to the processors. The rest of you will be taught how to sort and recognise machine parts. The Ship is big and slow, you’ll be on here for weeks.”   
“On arrival the best of you will be sold to a new mining operation setting up on Quantxi, the junk moon. Good work, temperate climate, no natural predators, a breeze after working the Jabiim mines.”   
He pauses “The rest of you will go to general auction, so could be anything. But they’re usually kinder than the Hutts.”   
Crew in shock armour walk up and down the rows of chained slaves, stamping numbers on their skin.   
“You have been given a cell hold number. If you are found outside that hold without a guard, you will be shot.”   
An armoured guard grabs Qi’ras arm and hold it up “What about this one?” he asks the Quarren.   
He shrugs, looks her over. “Put her on food detail for now”   
The guard stamps a blue symbol on her hand and points up a set of steel steps. “That way”   
QI’ra hurries to obey, wanting to find somewhere safe to hide for a while.  
The floor is industrial metal mesh that hurts her bare feet as she runs. She stops and looks down through the mesh. She can see a curved metal floor plate just underneath. Looking round it’s clear the corridors and rooms are build inside the circular pipes and huge tanks of part of the bulk haulers cargo system. The spaces under the floor grills seem to be used as sewers, they probably wash the whole ship down after runs. Perhaps she could find a way down, hide in the spaces underneath? Then she remembers the Hassk. Small, fast, vicious and with keen senses, they’d be ideal for hunting down people trying to hide like that.   
She hugs her arms around herself and hurries on.   
The Ships galley is warm and well lit after the bare metal of the holds, but it stank with a fetid odour that made her gag. She realised why when she saw the cook, a huge beast of a Gamorrian in a stained apron, its thick green skin sagging over its belt in rolls of fat and its little pig life face twisted up in rage.   
It lets loose a squealing roar and grabs a huge metal ladle then starts to beat a slave who’d dropped a sack of some pale green flakes. The first blow hits the slaves arm that he raised in self-defence and breaks it with an audible snap. The second and third land heavy blows to the head and back   
The Gamorian roars and grabs the concussed slave by the head, shoving him face first into a huge pot of boiling water. He thrashes and struggles, splashing boiling water about then slumps down, dead. The Gamorian lets go, grumbling as it flexes its leathery fingers, hardly scalded. The slave was not so lucky, the whole head of the corpse on the floor is scalded bright red.   
Wiping it’s hands, the Cook turns and addresses a battered silver protocol droid propped against the wall. It’s missing a leg, so it's kept upright by a rope knotted under its arm pits tying it to a pillar. 

“Oh dear. GrrDan the cook wishes me to inform you that clumsiness and waste will not be tolerated. This is a long trip with many to feed and we do not carry enough food for the larger carnivores in the lower hold, so he will probably have to pick at least two of the cargo slaves to feed them. He suggests you don't disobey and make his choice easier”  
The Gamorian takes a large cargo hook off the wall, stabs it into the slaves corpse and drags it to a chute, lifting it one handed and dropping it in with a sickening thud.


	12. Part 12

==== Part 12 ==========

The daily meal routine is always the same, clean the row of cauldrons and fill them with water from the ships recycler. Set them to boil while the Gamorian fetches a crate of expired imperial Military surplus food ration bars from the stores.   
Then the galley slaves set to work peeling off the wrappers and dumping the protein blocks into the pot.   
Other slaves stirred the mix with huge paddles. The Gamorian grumbles instructions and the droid translates “he says Stir harder! You have to boil and mash to kill all the grubs and beetles!”   
Once it’s boiling again the slaves drag out a sack of algae flakes. They add a scoop full to each cauldron and stir as it thickens up to make gruel.  
Then a cargo droid collects a cauldron and a squad of armoured guards lead it to a hold, where each slave gets a bowl of gruel and a cup of water a day.   
She works there for three meals, three days of boiling, cleaning and sleeping in a pile of sacks under one of the tables. The other slaves in the galley won’t talk to her, or get too close. They seem scared of her.   
Three nervous days waiting for the next blow to fall…. Then one of the guards comes stamping into the galley after the meal rounds are done.   
“Where is the pleasure slave?”  
The Gamorrian grunts and points to her sat in a pile of food wrappers. She feels a moment of breathless panic but fights it down. No way to run. No place to hide. The only way to survive is to go through.   
She answers “Here, sir” and kneels, waiting his command.   
“The Captain wants you, come with me” the guard says, then turns and walks off. She hurries to follow and he leads her up stairs and ramps, tubes and corridors into part of the ship that seems to have been actually made for people, not retrofitted into the cargo holds. There are actual floors, walls with doors in. The off duty guards are lazing about, still armed and armoured but most have their helmets off. As she’s led through the corridors they stop what they’re doing and watch, several following them as the guard leads her into a room with actual furniture and carpet on the floor.   
Captain Snake beard is sat on one of the chairs, casually scrolling through a data pad. Sat around him are several others she assume are the ships officers, all well dressed and armed with an air of casual violence about them. Further back an old 2-1B medical droid is unpacking a medical station onto a table.  
She drops instinctively to her knees.

He looks up and the tentacles on his chin writhe. “Ah, So here’s the little pleasure slave” he gestures with the data pad. “So, are you really worth what these say?   
“I don’t know, master.”   
“well, where are you from, girl?”  
“Corellia, Master.”  
“Not a planet famed for its slaves. You’re pretty, I’ll give you that, but why this much?”  
“I don’t know master. My duty is to serve, not know things”  
Snake beard raises an eyebrow   
“Is that a smart mouth I hear?”  
She looks down at the ground, heart and mind racing “No master. But if I may speak?”  
“You may, girl. But watch your tongue”   
“Perhaps you are looking at the transaction the wrong way round. Perhaps I am merely the excuse for someone to pay a lot of money to someone else.”  
“So they over value you, someone buys you but gets something else as well, neat way to pass a chunk of cash about legally”  
“and as the ship was taken by pirates, one no one can disprove. In fact, if the lot was insured no one would be out of pocket”  
“Are you saying you were deliberately overvalued as a tax cheat?”   
“it’s certainly possible, Master”  
He throws back his head and laughs, then holds up the pad again   
“So, was this rating faked as well?”   
She blushes and looks away.   
His laugh becomes a knowing smirk. “Seems there is some truth to it”   
See, i don't trust droids to rate merchandise like this, there’s a certain glow about a slave girl at her Masters feet that droids just don’t see.”  
She keeps her gaze fixed on the floor.   
“Now, let’s get that brand looked at. Up girl, and bend over that table”  
She stands and hurries to the table in front of the medical droid. It’s low enough that she can bend over and lay on it while her feet still just touch the floor. She stretches her arms out above her head, her feet apart, knowing she’s giving the whole room a perfect view of her most intimate parts. From the murmur of appreciation she’s definitely got an audience, she glances back to see more of the crew have stopped by to watch and more in the doorway. She shifts her weight from foot to foot, giving them a little show as the medical droid runs its scan.   
Snake beard looks the results over and turns to the medical droid, confused. “The medical scanner is giving me some weird readings. Are you sure these are correct?”   
The Droid runs the scanner over her again then confirms “The readings are correct. While surface tissue is well healed the underlying tissue still shows trauma.”  
“It’s like it’s still fresh. Can you peel it?”   
“Not without risk of rejection or scarring. I could skin over it, but just adding a cancel brand would be easier.”   
Snake beard nods “Do that then”. He runs a possessive hand over Qi’ra’s upturned ass, up onto her waist then onto her metal belt. He pushes it down and the table clicks, locking the belt in place. He keeps his hand moving up, pressing her to the table, tracing her brand with a fingertip then locking her collar down onto the table as well. Finally he locks her wrist cuffs in place, leaving her stretched out immobile.   
He casually strokes the stubble on her scalp as the droid shuffles its tools. She presses back onto his hand, moving her head to savour the possessive weight of his hand on her.   
The Droid produces a stylus with a red hot tip and artfully etches a string of numbers under her brand. The touch is agony, a feather light touch that leaves a line of fire across her skin.   
“Done” It cocks it’s head, checking the writings alignment. “Should pass as valid”   
“Good. Pack up and get back to medical”   
She slumps down on the table, shaking. Snake beard circles the table, then bends to fix chains from the table corners to her ankle cuffs.   
“Now, I’ve a crown for the little pleasure princess” He opens a case and holds up a metal circlet for her to see. “this little beauty is illegal in seventeen civilised systems but it is just about the best teacher a slave can have.”  
He puts the metal ring over her head, so it ran across her brow.   
“You see, the prongs at the back read neural activity in the brain.” She can feel the two blunt prongs press into the back of her head. He touches a control on the front and she feels cold metal dig into her skin over her temples.  
“These at the front directly stimulate the pleasure centres of your brain, by exactly the same amount as the device reads. Pleasure is added on top of pleasure”   
The spikes at her temples are still pushing, turning; she feels them break the skin, she screams as she can feel it screw in until the points grind into the bone of her skull.   
“But there’s more. Every emotion, every sensation it reads is made pleasurable. It’s surprising how fast the brain adapts to constant jolts of stimulation. You'll learn to love fear and pain for the jolt of pleasure they'll bring. Soon just the thought of it will give you a thrill; I’ll whip you and you’ll whimper and beg for the lash.”   
He laughs and activates the crown. She shudders as a wave of warmth runs down her spine, as she pulls at the unrelenting metal of her bonds they dig in and the pain flares with pleasure. It really works as he said. She panics, struggling harder but then feels the panic matched by a gathering heat in her loins, the desire making her wet and eager, grinding against the table, feeling her nipples hard on the cold metal and loving it.   
Snakebeard takes up a long leather strap. “I see it’s working” he lashes the strap across the back of her thighs, the sudden sting of pain making her cry out then moan as the flood of pleasure overwhelms her.   
He keeps going, slowly methodically working the lashes up her thighs to her ass, taking his time and letting the pain and pleasure intoxicate her.   
It’s all she can do to moan “No.. please… stop… no more… “ but as he lands the strap across the sweet spot on the curve of her buttocks again and again she can’t help moaning “more.. please.. more” then cry out as the blow pushes her over the edge. Screaming, she comes harder than she has ever felt, the device magnifying everything. Snake beard rubs his fingers between her legs, feeling how wet she is, lips puffy and swollen, slips a finger into her and feels her grip onto it.   
“Very good. You are a natural at this, you’ll break in very nicely” He unbuckles his pants, pulling out a thick purple grey cock with stubby tentacles around the head. “Let’s see how you feel”   
With a thrust he slides into her, so wet and eager she takes him in without a pause. She gasps, breathless, feeling him push deep into her, stretch her out, fill her in a way she’s never experienced. Real and fake pleasure war in her brain, sensations piling on top of each other as he grips her belt and starts to thrust into her. The physical sensation is overwhelming, it feels like he’s swelling in her, growing to massive proportions as the sensations are magnified again and again. In a small part of her brain she understands it’s a feedback loop, signals feeding on themselves, no wonder its banned as it could do real damage to peoples brains as well as scar their sanity, make them loose who they are.   
The real risk is fighting it, the machine is unrelenting and emotionless, and it doesn’t care what it reads and what it does. But it’s not telling her anything she doesn’t already know. She just has to accept she’s a slave and that being owned arouses her. It’s who and what she is.   
She cries out, submitting to the helplessness and horror of her situation. Her orgasm takes Snakebeard by surprise, feeling her pulsate and grip around him pushes him over the edge, he grunts then pushes in deep, cumming himself. Damn she’s good. He pulls free, resting his hand on the table as he catches his breath.   
She squirms against her bonds, the crown echoing the orgasm in her head.   
Straightening, he tucks his softening cock away and turns to the crew. He holds his hands up, both fingers and thumbs describing a circle. “Ok, line up! if you’re smaller than this, use the top orifice only. Between these two, either is fair game. Larger than this, sorry you can’t play today. Go get a tongue and tug job off the twi-leks, they’ve not been fed in a day or two. Those of you with knots, spines or barbs need to put a sheath on it. Remember, any Permanent damage comes out your wages. Anyone who kills her gets fed to the flesh raider, understood?”  
The crew mutter understanding as they push and shove to form a semi orderly line.  
Snake beard jams a wadded up Oily rag into her mouth and holds it in place with a hide strap he buckles around her head.   
“Enjoy yourself, girl. You’re entertaining the whole crew” 

She loses track of time and how many people use her, she’s fucked so much she loses the capacity for conscious thought, reduced to a body which is simply used and responds.   
Finally she’s aware that it’s stopped. She slowly starts to pull herself back together. She has survived.   
From the doorway behind her she hears a synthetic voice protest indignantly   
“I say! Stop this! Please! This is not my intended function.”   
The crew relaxing round the room look up and a few start laughing   
One asks “You spot welded a dildo to the cooks talkie droid?”   
“Yeah, watch. We rigged his actuator motors to reciprocate.” He presses a button fixed to the droids back and it’s pelvis jackhammers back and forth. “He can go all night”  
“Well, she’s taken all comers so far, just keep him lubed up, don’t want friction burns.”  
“Oh, we thought of that. he has a squirt function” the droids dildo buzzes and shoots a rope of thick pearlescent lube. The crew all laugh. 

Later still, the room is dark and finally empty. She’s quiet and still, breathing slowly. Her body is one huge ache, every muscle sore, her cunt and ass violated until they’re just feel swollen and torn, flooded with a rainbow of body fluids.   
A female twi’lek enters the room, naked except for a metal collar. She’s carrying a bucket and cloth, which she sets down by the table. Wordlessly she unbuckles the gag and lets Qira breathe freely.  
“thank you” she whispers.   
The Twilek wets the cloth in the bucket and gently wipes her face over. “You’ve been through a lot”   
Qi’ra just rests her head and sobs.   
The Twilek wets the cloth again and washes her back, the kindness of her touch stirring the crowns feedback again, bringing a soft pleasure.   
“You did well to last, he’s ruined more than a few girls with that device”  
“can you.. can you turn it off?”   
“No, only the captain can” the Twileks eyes go wide “is it still on?”   
Qi’ra nods sullenly. “Everything feels good. Even the bad. I can hardly tell what is real”   
The Twilek wets the cloth again and starts to wipe down her thighs.   
“It’s all real, you have to accept that. Some is just forced upon you”   
Qi’ra shudders, the cold wet rag on her thighs making her shiver with delight.   
“You have to learn to live with it. Accept it and it’ll make your life easier than fighting it”   
The cold rag rubs across the aching lips of her cunt, slow deliberate strokes.   
“you’ve been used hard for their pleasure. Let me give you something of your own”  
Crouching behind her, the Twi’lek starts to lick at her, her tongue darting back and forth across aching soreness. Qi’ra breathes slowly and deeply, trying to relax and enjoy it, not let herself dwell on her situation.   
The twi’lek buries her face in Qi’ra, hot little tongue lapping round the nub of her clit.   
The tension gathers in her, but her mind revolts “No, no. I don't want to come. I don't want any of this!”  
The Twi’lek lifts her head “you have to live with it. I was a weaver til someone saw me dance. “  
She strokes her lekku, the twi’lek head tendrils   
“They all wanted you. There is power in that”   
Taking one tendril in each hand, she slips one into Qi’ra’s gaping ass, the other into her cunt. Stroking her helpless girls clit with her fingers, the twi’lek shudders at the sensation   
“This is your life now. Accept it”


	13. Part 13

Back in a cell, Qi’ra just lies on the ragged blanket. She feels numb, used and violated.  
Carefully she stays still, not giving the crown anything to echo. If she doesn’t feel anything it doesn’t trigger and she can think clearly. Feeling any emotion at all sets it off, She’s had panic attacks that ended in her humping the wadded up bed rags, fear and loathing even as she came.   
She entertains fantasies of revenge, but they seem hopeless. She dreams of how things could have gone if she’d got out of the spaceport with Han, how they’d be flying across the galaxy having adventures. She almost smiles, but stops herself. She doesn’t want honest happiness tainted by induction of fake pleasures.   
She needs to survive.   
The bolt on the cell door slides back with a sudden thump and the guard ushers in a pale blue medical droid.   
“Up and against the wall” the guard orders and she obeys as the droid hums and cycles its manipulators round.   
She presses her forehead against the cold metal, arms crossed behind her back, her legs apart. The spikes of the pleasure inducer dig in, but it’s still firmly anchored.   
She jumps at the droids touch, as it rapidly checks her over with firm, caring hands. It cleans all her scratches and scrapes with a swab and spray, tutting away with programmed concern.   
Once it’d finished the check it turns to the guard “I recommend an Injection of mild painkillers, a broad spectrum antibiotic and contraceptive.”  
The guard nods “confirm treatment”   
The droid lifts a syringe equipped limb, dials spin as it loads the drugs it has selected then it grips her upper arm.   
She struggles as the needle goes in, grinding against it. It hurts, but she enjoys the pain as the pleasure spikes through her.  
“Stop that!” the droid snaps. “You will inflict self-damage!”   
She sighs as the needle withdraws. The guard on the door seems worried by her reaction, but he orders her.   
“Down on your knees”   
She kneels and the droid grips her jaw “Open wide” 

She does and the droid inserts a medical probe, an articulated metal tendril that forces its way down her throat   
Choking, she feels it flex and shift a few small stabs of pain then a painful scraping it withdraws.   
The droid informs the guard “the operation was successful. I’ve severed several minor nerves which should remove most of her gag reflex. She should be kept on a liquid diet for the next two days until it heals and she learns to swallow properly again”   
The horrifying feeling of helplessness returns full force, they’re mutilating her, turning her more and more into just a thing to be used. She tries to sob but the horror is mixed with the sick fake pleasure and a terrible joy at her subjugation. She can’t tell what was her feelings and what was the wire tricking her brain.  
Overwhelmed, she starts to cry as she feels a clench between her legs, pulsating desire as the wire feeds on her horror. 

The next two days pass in a drugged blur, the crowns signal constantly tormenting her. She hardly sleeps, can’t eat but is force fed fluids as her throat is raw and swollen. The artificial lust won’t leave her, no matter how many times she makes herself come. The guards laugh at first, then chain her hands behind her. As soon as the door is locked she was shuffling over on her knees and humping the corner of her sleep mat. They ended up locking her to the wall, unable to move with a sack thrown over her head. She can hear hushed conversations between the guards and what sounds like the medical droid. 

Eventually she hears the cell door open and the heavy confident tread of boots. Captain Snakebeard tugs the sack off her head and is taken aback for a moment by the desperation on her face.  
“Seems I’ve left this on you too long” He says, deactivating the Crown.   
Qi’ra slumps, the constant whirlwind of pleasure and fear in her head suddenly silenced.   
The Captain unlocks her from the wall, letting her drop down onto the floor.  
“Now, let’s see how well you took to that lesson”   
She shudders, numb fingers clawing at her face “I can’t feel it any more. It’s gone. Everything hurts now. Please. Turn it back on, please. “She grasps his pants leg, pleading “please turn it back on”   
“You’ll have to earn it.”  
“Anything! I’ll do anything!”  
“Lick my boot.”  
He’s hardly finished talking before she was burying her face in his boot, licking and kissing it with desperate fervour.   
“Very good. Now, polish it with that needy little cunt of yours”   
She straddles his boot, gripping his leg and humping the toe of the boot, all the while looking up at him with pleading eyes “Please. Turn it back on. I’ll do anything. Anything.”   
The captain laughs triumphantly “Now, let’s test your gag reflex” He unbuckles his belt and she eagerly helps him free his cock, licking and kissing the tip, tongue teasing the spubby tendrils. She takes him into her mouth and without a moment hesitation slides him deep into her throat, until her face is buried into the musky tangle of his body hair. He gasps, gripping her hair and holding her head down, She can’t breathe but doesn’t struggle, doesn’t fight. All impulse to choke or gasp for breathe is gone. For one hopeless moment she wishes she could just choke and die, never have to fight again. But then he pulls back she can breathe again, she gasps a breathe and he starts thrusting, vigorously fucking her face. She works her tongue on him, her hands gripping what she assumes are his testicles. She feels his cock thicken, the muscles clench and a thick savoury fluid spurts into her mouth. Not daring to spill a drop she sucks it all down, swallowing and licking as he keeps spurting.   
When he stops she licks up the last drops and looks up, trying to look as devoted as she can.  
“Did I please you, sir?”  
He smiles a massive post orgasmic grin and pets the scrubby stubble on her head “Good girl”.  
He thumbs the Crown back on. All the willpower she’d had to muster is washed away, nothing is too much to not bring signals of pleasure.   
She smiles a blissful smile. He’s distracted his brain fussy with feel good chemicals and she’s unbound and incapable of feeling pain or fear any more.   
She turns and slams her head as hard as she can against the metal wall. She hits square on one of the forehead spikes, driving it into her skull until the bone cracked. She starts laughing as her vision fills with flashing lights, the device shorting as voltage arcs from damaged electrodes. She lifts her head back, wedges the crown on a metal edge and throws her whole body forward. The Crown rips free on one side, taking a big flap of scalp on one side but the sensors at the back pull free. Blood is pouring from the side of her head and she’s still laughing as she tries to pull the spike in her head free. The horrified captain lashes out with his newly shined boot, the pain a welcome sensation now the crown has stopped its malefic influence. The kick knocks her arm away, bending painfully and oddly at an unnatural angle. He grabs her battered circlet and pulls it from her grasp, looking down at her blood smeared face in horror. She just laughs and spits his blue black fluids onto the deck.   
“Sorry, not so good now!”   
He shakes his head and signals the medical droid. “Patch her up as best you can” .  
Frowning he turns to the Quarren who was watching from the doorway.   
“You were right Sekki, she couldn’t take it. Best cut our losses and sell her at the next stop, the jolt could have done permanent brain damage”   
The Quarren nods agreement. “Pity, I thought she was doing well”   
They leave the cell, locking the door behind them. The Medical droid clicks to itself as it examines her head wound. With quick, deft motions it sprays foam over the exposed bone, smoothing the skin back in place and stapling it as the blood is clotted into thick red scabs.   
Qi’ra glances at the locked door then relaxes, wincing as the droid probes the scorched and bleeding wound on her forehead. “Any chance of something for the pain?”  
It wraps an inflatable splint around her forearm and pulls the arms straight as it inflates. “While applying pain mitigation is recommended for wounds such as this, I am limited as to what I can use on cargo. I will be applying some to hopefully stop your brain swelling but your arm is going to be painful for a while”  
Qi’ra settles back onto the bed mat, closing her eyes. Everything hurts and all she wants to do is sleep now but she needs to be healthy when she gets out of here. She grits her teeth and gasps “you say limited.. why.. Why is it limited?”  
“To preserve the profit margins, no item of cargo can incur costs over 2% of list value”  
She chuckles to herself. “Go see what my last shipping price was”   
“The first mate has not logged a price, so I am working on defaults”  
“The captain has the manifest of the ship I was on…”   
The droid flips open a data pad and brings up the traders manifest. It stops. Checks and checks again.  
“hmm.. curious. Recalculating your treatment regime. Recalculating… recalculating.” It deflates the arm cast and opens up the medical kit fully, smoothly loading drug cartridges into its tool-arm. “I’ll insert a bone regrowth matrix to restore your forearm, regeneration serum to speed tissue healing, a smart suture to fix the skull fracture and bacta foam to heal and prevent infection.” It hums happily to itself as it takes a blood sample “I’ve optimised the drug cocktail for your body chemistry and current level of physical and mental trauma”.  
She looks at the droid incredulously, then looks down at the mess of blood and blue black alien semen splattered across her breasts and laughs at the absurdity of its calm analysis.   
The droid gently takes her arm and presses the injector into her bicep as the laugh sours, her face falls and she starts to sob “This will make it feel better”   
She exhales deeply and suddenly goes limp, eyes rolling back into her head. It’s like a warm soft cloud rose up from the ground and wrapped itself around her.   
The droid silently lowers her onto the bed slab on the floor, covers her with the tattered blanket then packs up its kit and leaves, lowering the lights. It locks the cell door and sticks a “MEDICAL TREATMENT UNDERWAY” sign on the door.


	14. part 14

She sleeps for three days straight, restless and feverish. The Guards mostly leave her alone, just checking on her occasionally and running a betting pool on if she’ll survive and if she’ll actually sell.   
There’s a lot of grumbling and exchanging of credit chips when she wakes up, ravenously hungry but lucid and able to stand. They then draw lots to see who’s got to get her ready for the auctions.

The guard arrives at Qi’ra’s cell just as the medical droid is leaving, carrying its full med-kit. That doesn’t bode well, he wonders how much of a mess the Captain left her in. As she was his problem to clean up and prepare he’d not been allowed to bet on her failing, the first mate had cracked down on that hard after a few guards deliberately crippled slaves to win bets. In fact, he’d get a bonus of ten per cent of what she went for over the base list price, so a good sale could keep him in drinking money all next trip.   
He unlocks the cell door and turns up the lights, to see what he’d got to work with. If she’s as brain burned as the crew were joking he’ll be lucky if she can walk.   
But as the lights come up he can see her, huddled timid and fearful in the corner of the cell. She has a bandage around her head, hair above it short and spiky and the blanket pulled up over her, but he’s captivated by her eyes, so wide and expressive. He shuts the door and the way she flinches at the sound gives him a feeling of power he’s not felt in a while. The other slave are beaten and starved into dull obedience, but this girl is bright, alive and he’s suddenly eager to see more of her.   
He grabs the blanket and yanks it away, making her yelp in fear and surprise. He barks an order  
“Up! Up and display!” and is pleased to see her obey without hesitation. She jumps to her feet, standing tall with her shoulders back, arms crossed behind her back and her chest pushed out, her full breasts heaving as she breathes. She shifts her feet, moving them apart and he admires the curve of her hip, the way she has her chin up but her eyes downcast.   
“Very good.” He steps close, running a hand over her to gauge her reactions. Up close she hardly comes up to his shoulder, young adult by human age but grown to her full height. He runs his hand over her shoulder, down onto her chest, cups her breast to feel the soft weight of it, strokes her nipple as it hardens at his touch, runs his hand down over her belly. She gasps as he strokes down her thigh then up again, cupping her cunt in his hand, stubbly hair on his palm as his fingers probe into her. With one finger he pushes her open easily, she’s wet and ready for him. Her hips rock and she bites her lip, looking away as she stifles a moan. He pushes her back against the cell wall, working her with two fingers now and making her cry out.   
“Yes! Oh yes!”  
He slips his fingers free and she drops to her knees, wrapping her arms around his thighs and rubbing her cheek on his crotch   
“Let me serve you, sir. I need you. Use me, please!” She peppers the swelling in his crotch with hot little kisses.   
“Please, use me, fuck me, take me. I’m been locked in here alone for so long. Please Sir!”   
He can hardly unfasten his belt fast enough, and as he pulls his pants down his raging erection springs free, slapping her across the face. She pounces on it, sucking on the tip then in one smooth motion taking it all the way down her throat until her face is buried in his groin. He gasps and wraps his hands around her head as she tightens her throat on his cock then pulls back, tongue stroking eagerly. Her hands wrap around the root of his cock as he growls and forces her head down, fucking her face with hard fast strokes.   
Looking down at her as he thrusts into her mouth he watches her eyes almost roll back in her head.   
He pulls back and lets her gasp a few breathes but she keeps working his spit-slick cock with her hands, looking up at him imploringly  
“Please, Sir. Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me!”  
He grabs her under the arms and lifts her roughly to her feet, pushes her back against the wall. She wraps her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist, clinging to him as he grabs her ass and lifts her bodily onto his cock. He thrusts forward as her weight pulls her down onto him, she cries out in wordless pleasure as he slides balls deep into her. He grunts, feeling her clench around his throbbing cock, digging her heels into his back and biting his padded shoulder armour to stifle her cries as he thrusts faster.   
In a matter of moments he’s panting, his hips thrusting a few hard strokes then she feels him pulse and throb, crushing her against the wall as he comes, his last brutal thrusts pushing her over the edge into helpless orgasmic bliss, pumping her hips to grind every last drop from him.   
“Yes! Yes! Take me! I’m Yours! Yours! Use me, Master!”  
He slumps forward, one arm on the wall the other round her waist.   
He gasps an astonished “wow” as she presses herself against his chest, caressing his face, kissing his chest armour. Spent, his erection starts to subside and she gives a disappointed sigh as he slides free from her.   
She slides down to the ground, down onto her knees. Reverently she starts to lick his tumescent cock, licking the combined juices from his member until he’s clean then carefully tucking it back into his pants for him.  
As he hitches up his belt she spreads her knees wider and leans forward, pressing her forehead to the floor.  
“Thank you, Master.”   
He grins a half brain dead grin, high on a post orgasmic feeling of sex and power. “Not bad, not bad at all.” He straightens his gun belt, enjoying the power trip. “We’ll soon be docking at a station around Quantxi, the junk moon of Ord Mantell. You will be put up for auction there and I expect you to make me proud, girl. If you impress someone you may be kept as a pleasure slave, if you don’t you may just be sold in a job lot to a miners brothel or worst by weight as expendable mine labour. Remember, your future depends on this, girl”  
“Yes Master” she replies, face to the floor to hide a little smirk of a smile. If they’re all like him it’s going to be easy.   
He turns and saunters from the cell with a spring in his step


End file.
